


heavy lies the crown

by serenatta



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Competent Hop, Depression, Everyone Needs A Hug And Also Therapy, Friends to Lovers, Hop and Victor share a brain cell, Humor, Idiots in Love, Leon and Raihan are Hop's parents, M/M, Marnie having to deal with these dumbasses, Mental Health Issues, Mostly Hop-centric, Parent-Child Relationship, Pokemon Journey, Suicide Attempt, Trans Dande | Leon, Trans rights, Trauma, TrueRivalShipping, Underage Drinking, help them, not very relevant story-wise but like, so enjoy the ride :), starts lighthearted and slowly gets darker as we go, tomfoolery and hijinks afoot!, trainshipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 49,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27128296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenatta/pseuds/serenatta
Summary: Hop had always known that people expected big things from him as the son of the unbeatable Champion and the strongest Gym Leader in Galar. He knew that his destiny was to take after them and become a legend himself, much like a prince succeeding the king in taking the throne.It was too late to notice the crown slowly slipping from his head.
Relationships: Dande | Leon & Hop, Dande | Leon/Kibana | Raihan, Hop & Kibana | Raihan, Hop/Masaru | Victor
Comments: 41
Kudos: 89





	1. Overture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sorry I almost killed us.”
> 
> “Wouldn’t be the first time.”
> 
> “This interaction feels backwards.”
> 
> “It is.”

It was rare to find Postwick completely silent.

The town was small and quaint, filled with neat little houses and farms that appeared to be older than the town itself. Postwick was, for all intents and purposes, almost insignificant when compared to the biggest cities of Galar—nothing but a blip on the radar—and yet it was always bursting with life, both in and out. The grass was greener, the air was cooler and fresher, and the pokémon seemed happier in general. Perhaps this was because they had much more space to run free compared to places like Hammerlocke and Wyndon, which were bursting at the seams with both people and pokémon alike.

Hop’s visits to Postwick had been pretty sparse in the past, so he’d never really noticed anything noteworthy about it when he was younger. However, now that he’d been living there for just about two months, he could see it clear as day. The neighbours all knew each other by name and were incredibly friendly with one another. They didn’t hesitate to help when someone was in trouble either. Having lived in Wyndon for most of his life, the difference between the city and the countryside was striking. It was a change Hop hadn’t expected, honestly, but it was welcomed nonetheless. 

He found that here he could release all of his energy without accidentally running into someone and being told off for it. He could chat with all of the neighbours and none of them minded. Quite the opposite, in fact. They seemed eager to have new people to talk to. He’d constantly hear the older townsfolk mention how a child’s presence always brought more life into the town. It was only when they mentioned it for the first time that Hop noticed he was the only child living in a town of mostly old people.

Or, at least, he used to be.

When he came to Postwick after months of not having visited, he realized that the vacant property a few houses away from the one he’d been staying in was, in fact, no longer vacant, and a family had just moved in: a mother and her son, who turned out to be the same age as Hop. His grandmother (the one who’d been taking care of him those past two months) and the boy’s mother encouraged them to hang out, seeing as they were both ten-years-old and had no one else their age to interact with. The progress had been slow at first, with Hop’s neighbour—Victor Ludwig, he later learned—being painfully shy at first. To everyone’s amazement, however, in less than a month the two became practically joined at the hip, and Victor’s true personality shone through: a boisterous child with a great sense of humour and a desire for new adventures, the exact same as Hop. It was rare to see one of them without the other—they were inseparable. And, now that the boys doubled their ability to cause trouble, the town became even livelier.

Which was why it was weird that, in such a beautiful day like this, Postwick was completely silent.

Hop didn’t really mind, though. Today was a special day, after all, and maybe that had something to do with the radio silence coming from most of the neighbours. He’d occasionally hear the cry of a pokémon as he passed by on his way to Victor’s house, but that seemed to be it. Thankfully, most of the pokémon in the area were either domestic or docile. And, if they weren’t, he had his trusty wooloo, Mimzy, there to protect him. Just like Hop, Mimzy’s presence was nearly impossible to ignore, either because of her jolly, extroverted nature or because she followed her trainer everywhere he went. It was an adorable sight. Hop’s smile grew wider as Mimzy let out a merry bleat at the sight of a nearby budew, the wind making her fluffy dark coat dance as she pranced alongside him.

“Come on, Mimzy!” he said, his voice chipper, coaxing the wooloo to follow him closer. Hop had woken up earlier than he usually did (probably because he could barely sleep that night out of sheer excitement), so he decided to meet Victor right away. His grandmother had scolded him for being so impatient and trying to leave the house without eating breakfast first, but she’d gotten used to his shenanigans at that point. _Just like your father when he was your age,_ she mentioned with fondness as he hastily took a bite from the cheese toastie she made for him, hoping to get it over with as soon as possible. That remark did leave him thinking for a moment before he decided to put it in the back of his head and leave.

It only took about five minutes or so of walking—or, in his case, running—to reach Victor’s house. Mimzy immediately perked up at the familiar sight and began to bolt for the door, somehow managing to surpass Hop in the process. Seriously, how was she faster than him when her legs were practically stumps? “Hey, wait up!” Hop called, picking up the pace. The wooloo either didn’t hear or consciously chose to ignore him, because as soon as those words left his mouth she swiftly rolled into a ball, heading straight for the Ludwig household without any sign of stopping. This was the fifth time something like this happened this month. He probably should’ve predicted it this time.

Hop winced emphatically when Mimzy rolled head-first into the door. Apparently that was the only thing capable of deterring her: being smacked straight in the face by a wooden obstacle. It reminded him of all the times he accidentally ran into glass windows back at Wyndon as a younger child, much to his frustration and his fathers’ amusement. Like trainer, like pokémon, he supposed.

It only took him a moment to catch up to Mimzy, but when he got there she had already recovered and was more than ready to try again, a determined look in her eyes. Much like a stern parent who was at his wits’ end with a particularly stubborn toddler, Hop picked up the wooloo and held her firmly in his arms to prevent further brain and property damage. “Oh no, you don’t, missy!” Thankfully, Mimzy didn’t struggle against his hold, instead choosing to nuzzle his neck affectionately. Hop huffed, his lips curling up into a soft smile. He really couldn’t stay mad at her. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He looked up once he registered the sound of a doorknob turning, and when the door opened he found himself face-to-face with Victor’s mother, who’d already been expecting him to pass by that day (seeing as that was the routine), although she appeared to be slightly surprised by the timing. He had arrived earlier than expected.

“Hi, Aunt Mary!” Hop greeted, giving her a sheepish smile as his mind went to the large dent that his pokémon left on the door. The dent had already been there for weeks since the first incident with his wooloo, but every time he visited with her on tow it grew larger. Apparently he couldn’t go anywhere with Mimzy anymore. “Um, sorry about your door… again.” Mimzy cried out apologetically in his arms, eyeing Mary with large, innocent eyes. Hop wanted to put her back on the ground, because his arms were starting to get tired and she was kind of heavy, but he didn’t trust her to not ram straight into the door again, and he’d been dumb enough to leave her pokéball at home.

Mary, who was a saint of a woman, simply laughed the whole incident off. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” she assured him, waving her hand dismissively. “Mimzy’s just excited to see us. Aren’t you, dearie?” She fondly pet the wooloo under her chin with her index finger. Mimzy bleated, content by the attention. Relief washed over Hop, because at least he wasn’t in trouble with his friend’s mother. His grandmother, on the other hand, was a whole different story. “I assume you’re here to fetch Victor?” It was a rhetorical question, because the answer was obvious.

“Is he awake yet?”

“Sure is!” Mary responded as she stepped aside, ushering him inside. “I just barely managed to force him into bed last night. He was too excited to sleep.” _Huh, so I wasn’t the only one,_ Hop thought as he carefully lowered Mimzy onto the floor, desperately hoping she’d behave herself this time. He looked around, wondering where Victor could be. He was usually by his side in seconds whenever Hop came to visit.

“Wow, mom,” came an unimpressed voice from behind them. Hop turned around, his gaze landing on a very annoyed-looking Victor. He’d been chilling in the kitchen this whole time, apparently. His hat was askew on his head, like he’d just haphazardly put it on, and the Rotom-phone in his hands was still playing a video that had been muted. “Just say it for the whole world to hear, why don’t you?”

“Don’t give me that, young man,” reprimanded Mary in a semi-lighthearted, semi-serious tone as she put her hands on her hips in a very typical ‘disappointed parent’ way. Hop knew that stance all too well. “You youngsters like to think you’re invincible, but you need to remember that you’re still growing! Sticking to your sleeping schedule is important.”

Victor opened his mouth, ready to argue against that (as well as to beg her to never call him a ‘youngster’ ever again), but decided against it at the sight of his mother raising an eyebrow, as if daring him to finish the sentence. It was better not to get into an argument with her first thing in the morning, especially not in front of his friend. Mary smiled, reaching out to ruffle Victor’s hair—except that he still had his hat on. That did not stop her. Victor squawked indignantly as his hat nearly slid off his head from the unwelcome gesture. Hop didn’t even try to mask his amusement, much to his friend’s chagrin.

Mary turned to him. “What about you, young man? Have you already eaten breakfast?” It sounded like a pointless question, because of course one would eat breakfast before leaving their house for Arceus knows how long, but she’d lost track of how many times Hop came to her house with an empty stomach—and not because he’d been neglected, but because he would sometimes completely forget that he was, in fact, not a plant, and therefore could not rely solely on the sunlight to keep him alive, especially considering that he and Victor would sometimes leave the house for hours at a time.

“I actually did this time!” Hop responded proudly. It was a weird thing to gloat about, but this was one of his greatest accomplishments to date. “Nanna would probably do me in if I didn’t eat the cheese toastie she spent so much time cooking just for me.” He could still remember the burning glare his grandmother gave him when he dared insinuate via body language that he was going to skip breakfast again. He could understand her concern, though. She probably didn’t want him fainting in the middle of the day… for the third time that month. Fun times.

Mary gave him an encouraging smile. “Good! Victor’s still eating his scrambled eggs, so you might want to sit down for a minute.”

“Actually—” interjected Victor, adjusting his hat, “—I’m already done.”

His mother shook her head, putting her hands on her hips once again in true mom fashion. She chided, “Victor, what have I told you about chewing your food properly? This is why ten thousand people die due to choking every year!” That was probably not true, but Hop didn’t have much authority to argue against it.

Victor pouted. “Mom…”

Hop tuned out their voices for a moment, focusing on the video playing on the Rotom-phone that his friend was holding. It looked familiar, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on it at first since Victor’s hand had been blocking most of the screen, but now he could see it clear as day. It was an uploaded recording of the earlier exhibition match that had been going on between the champion, Leon, and the dragon-type Gym Leader (and his biggest rival), Raihan. That was a battle that the entire region had been eager to watch, even if it meant getting up early in the morning to do so. Victor seemed to have had the same idea.

Hop was glad that he was now interested in Galar’s matches (including their unique Dynamax phenomenon), considering he’d been so reluctant to watch them with him at first. By the end of their second week together, Victor was waxing lyrical about becoming a pokémon trainer himself. It was good to know he’d successfully converted yet another person into becoming a battle fanatic, especially when it came to the battles between Leon and Raihan, two of the most skilled trainers in the whole Galar region.

And who also happened to be his parents.

Hop’s train of thought was broken when Victor suddenly poked him in the cheek. Hop’s eye twitched in annoyance. He hated when people did that, and his friend knew, but apparently not even the constant threats of having his finger bitten off would prevent him from repeating the offense. “Dude, snap out of it. We have to go.” It took him a moment to register those words. He’d completely forgotten what he came here for like the idiot he was and would continue to be.

“Right!” Hop enthusiastically agreed with a nod. “Let’s go!”

“Not so fast, boys,” Mary interjected, turning to her son who visibly deflated as he realized they probably wouldn’t be leaving the house anytime soon if things continued to go like this. “Victor, don’t forget to bring your bag!” Her gaze shifted to Hop. “Didn’t you say your father was bringing presents? How do you expect to carry them back here?” Oh yeah, he _did_ say that. The reminder got him even more excited for Leon’s visit. He had a vague idea of what his father was bringing him this time, and the thought made him even more eager to leave as soon as possible.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get it,” Victor murmured in a lackadaisical manner as he marched to his bedroom. It only took him a brief moment to snatch the bag from where he’d last put it (near his wardrobe, so he wouldn’t forget where he’d placed it). He decided to open it and put his Rotom-phone inside before making his way back. In all honesty, Hop thought that the bag looked less like an actual bag and more like a fancy briefcase with straps haphazardly glued on. It was comically oversized and also looked very heavy. Victor was clearly struggling with the extra weight that had been added to his back, and he did not miss the faint look of pity in Hop’s eyes. “Not a word,” he let out through gritted teeth.

Hop feigned ignorance. “Oh, Victor, my dearest friend, I am shocked and saddened that you think I would do such a thing!”

“Those are words, you idiot. At least ten of them, to be more precise,” Victor pointed out, still trying not to fall over from the weight on his back as well as tiring himself out from constantly shifting his annoyance from his friend to the bag he was carrying. Hop felt less pity for him now.

“Semantics, semantics.”

Mary chose to ignore their petty back-and-forth as her gaze shifted to Victor, her eyes lighting up in recognition. “Look at you, Victor,” she muttered softly yet audibly, her voice filled with nothing but fondness. Both children fell silent, turning to look at her curiously. “You look just like your father! I knew his old bag would suit you perfectly!” Hop and Victor exchanged glances. So the bag belonged to his father? Hop didn’t know. It made sense, though, since it looked to be more appropriately suited for an adult than a child. “Well, I promise I won’t hold you two back any longer! I can sense your impatience from here.”

The two of them were glad to finally be able to leave. As much as Hop loved talking to Mary, there was a reason he came to get Victor early, and that was because they tended to get distracted along the way and lose a lot of time, which resulted in them always being late to things. “Thanks, mom!” Victor said, pushing Hop towards the door. If there was something he knew about his mother, it was that she tended to talk a lot. If they didn’t leave now, she’d find something else to tell them, and they really didn’t need any more distractions. It was time to hit the road and—

“Wait!” Mary called out, and Victor let out a groan of annoyance.

“Mom, you promised—”

“I know, but this is important.” Mary’s voice held none of the sweetness it had before. The tone was firm and serious instead, her lips pressing into a thin line as she frowned. This caught Hop and Victor’s attention, seeing as this was a rare look for someone as cheerful as her. They froze in place, compelled to listen. “Whatever you do, _do not go into the Slumbering Weald._ I mean it.” She hesitated for a moment, considering her next words carefully. “They… They found another injured skwovet yesterday. Its tail got caught in a bewear trap.” It seemed like even _saying it_ pained her. Neither of the children knew about this until now. The townsfolk had purposefully tried to be as discreet as possible about the issue to avoid freaking them out. Mary, however, knew there was no point in keeping this a secret. The less they knew about how dangerous the forest was, the more they’d be curious about it.

Hop’s eyes widened. He’d always known about the bewear traps as Leon had practically drilled the fact that they were a thing into his head the moment he gained the ability to understand coherent speech, but he thought someone would’ve tried to fix the issue at some point. “They haven’t removed the traps yet?”

“No, and I doubt they’re going to,” Mary responded, shaking her head and crossing her arms, her change in demeanor a stark contrast to the optimistic Aunt Mary he knew. Now that Hop thought about it, that was a stupid question. The fog in the Slumbering Weald was very thick, so much so that one could easily get lost just five steps in. Navigating through that maze of a place was nearly impossible. Removing the bewear traps that had been put there a long time ago by Arceus knows who was not something worth losing a foot over. It was best to advise others to stay away instead, as well as try and treat the pokémon that were harmed by them.

Victor had heard stories about the Slumbering Weald, but he hadn’t heard about the bewear traps until now. Considering the seriousness of the situation, he assured his mother, “Don’t worry, mom, we’ll stay away. Promise.”

Relief washed over Mary’s features as her signature smile made its way back to her lips. “I’m very glad to hear that. _Now_ you can go. I don’t want you missing the champion’s return to Postwick, after all!” Hop and Victor nodded, glad that everything had already been dealt with and that they now could be on their way. Hop didn’t know how long they’d been there for, but it was a few minutes too long for his liking. The warning about the Slumbering Weald was sound, at least... Hopefully they could just open the door without anything going wrong this time.

And then, just as Victor’s hand landed on the knob, Hop realized something.

“Wait, where’s Mimzy?”

Hop had been so distracted by the conversation that he completely forgot about his wooloo. He had found her uncharacteristic silence suspicious, but chalked it up to her trying to behave for Mary. That turned out to not be the case, as she was no longer at his side. Hop’s eyes rounded the room, hoping to find a ball of fluff hiding somewhere behind the couch or something. He didn’t need to look far, because he found Mimzy nuzzling Mary’s munchlax, Snooze, who appeared to be enjoying the attention. With a chuckle, he walked up to the two of them and picked her up. “Come on, Mim, let’s go,” he said. “You can play with Snooze later, okay?” Mimzy let out a cry either of indignation or agreement. Hop wasn’t entirely sure. He turned to Victor. “All done!”

“Finally!” Victor exclaimed, exasperated. “We’ve been here so long that I’m growing roots. Let’s go.” He held the door open for Hop, who had his hands full at the moment. He was thankful for the help. Once he stepped outside, Victor followed suit, closing the door behind him. Hop put the wooloo down. Arceus, she was heavier than she looked. Either that or he needed to work out more. Victor nudged his side with an elbow. “Well then,” he started, and the mischievous twinkle in his eyes alerted Hop of what was coming next, “we’re finally out of the house! Guess we’d better—”

“—don’t you dare—”

_“—hop along!”_

“...You’re not the clown,” Hop, who looked one blink away from slapping his friend into another dimension, replied, “you’re the entire circus.” It had only been two months since he’d met Victor, and he started making this shitty joke during their second week of being trapped into a room together. It was funny the first time Victor said it, and then got progressively less funny the more he decided to continue saying it, up to the point where it completely lost its flavor and started becoming frustrating and stale instead. And yet, despite Hop always looking unimpressed as a response, Victor kept repeating the same joke over and over, acting like the ‘clever’ usage of his name was the greatest thing that’d been blessed upon humanity since the invention of the wheel.

Victor sulked, crossing his arms. What a tough crowd. “You have no sense of humor.”

“Mate, if there was a sense of humour version of the term fashion disaster, you’d be the poster boy for it,” Hop swiftly retorted as he walked down the steps of the house’s front yard. Mimzy merrily followed him along. “Basically speaking, you have a humour malfunction. It’s like a wardrobe malfunction, but at least a wardrobe malfunction’s fixable.” He couldn’t see Victor’s face, but the indignant gasp that he let out was enough to give him a hint of the expression his friend might be making right now.

“You better take that back!”

“Make me, Unova boy!” Hop shouted back, grinning from ear to ear. He expected Victor to give him some sass in return. He _did not_ expect Victor to suddenly tackle him and cling to his back like a purrloin pouncing on its prey, nearly throwing him off-balance and sending them both to the ground. Luckily Hop managed to recover before any bones were broken, but the other boy didn’t let go. He tried to reach for Victor’s shirt to pull him off but couldn’t reach it, seeing as Victor was out of reach and his hands weren’t long enough to do him any favours. He heard a series of confused bleats coming from somewhere beside him but couldn't pinpoint where exactly they were coming from. That didn't matter now, though. It wasn't like that was his biggest priority at the moment.

“Get off my back, Vic! You’re heavy!”

“Admit I’m funny!” Victor demanded, his grip on his friend’s jacket tightening as he pushed more of his weight onto his back, throwing them off-balance again. The fact that he was still wearing that bulky-ass bag of his wasn’t helping. Hop took two steps forward, legs shaking as they tried to support both their weights, in an attempt to stop them from falling, because if they went down he’d end up taking the brunt of the fall. “Admit it, I’m the funniest person you’ve ever met!” Victor repeated when the other said nothing, too focused on trying not to die to think of replying.

“I’d rather be nailed to a cross!” Hop hissed back.

“Admit it!”

“Never!”

Victor, ever the dumbass, threw all of his weight on top of Hop as a final fuck you, sending them both falling forward and onto the ground. As expected, Hop’s body absorbed most of the immediate impact and they both came tumbling down the stairs, gaining enough momentum to send them crashing onto the stone fence in front of Victor’s house. But karma’s a bitch, so it was Victor who found himself being hit square in the face by the fence, serving as a meat shield for Hop's free-falling body. A string of colorful expletives coming from both sides filled the air as the adrenaline rushing through their veins slowly wore off, pain following right after. Hop clutched his arm, unsure of whether it was broken or not. His vision was a little blurry but he could see Mimzy rushing towards them, stopping in front of his face and nuzzling his forehead. Her snout was cold and wet.

Hop wasn’t sure of how long they had been lying down on the ground for, trying to lessen the pain and assess the damage, but it couldn’t have been long. It hurt to breathe, and somehow staying still was more painful than moving. After a moment of silence between them, Hop finally rolled onto his back, turning his head to look Victor in the eyes.

“...Okay, maybe you’re a bit funny.”

It took Victor a moment to register what Hop said since his ears were ringing and he was almost sure he had a concussion. When it finally hit him, he let out a snort. “Sorry I almost killed us.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“This interaction feels backwards.”

“It is.”

With enough effort, Hop managed to sit up, wincing as pain shot from the bottom of his spine to the back of his skull. Hopefully this wouldn’t slow them down considering they were already late to begin with. Ignoring the pain, Hop carefully rose to his feet, feeling sick for a moment as the world spun around him. Once he adjusted to both the feeling of his aching muscles and the nauseating dizziness, Hop offered a helping hand to Victor who gladly took it, making a face as he got on his feet.

The two stood there for a second or ten, catching their breaths and collecting their thoughts, when Hop started laughing. He didn’t know what exactly he found funny about the situation. Perhaps it was because only _they_ could do something so ridiculous and walk out of it relatively unharmed, or maybe he had brain damage and this was the first sign that they should consider going to a hospital. It didn’t really matter either way. Victor started giggling as well, just because he wasn’t willing to watch his friend laugh his ass off while standing there with a poker face, and the duo just stood there, laughing at nothing in particular. They definitely had brain damage.

_CRASH!_

Hop and Victor froze at the sudden sound of something hard colliding against wood. They turned their heads towards the source of the sound and found a wild wooloo rolling into a ball and ramming head-first into the wooden gate that separated Postwick from the Slumbering Weald. This made Hop realize that this wasn’t a quirk that Mimzy possessed in particular and that maybe all wooloos were equally daft creatures that loved to run straight into hard surfaces. What a fascinating yet useless discovery. Maybe he should write a book about that.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Hop called as the wooloo tried to smash its face against the gate once more. He needed to stop it before it did even more damage, both to the gate and itself. Thankfully he had enough experience with stubborn pokémon (namely, Mimzy) to know what to do in this scenario.

Strategically placing his body behind the wooloo, he leaned forward and grabbed it by the horns. His grip was firm yet gentle to avoid startling the poor thing. It was not very effective seeing as it had been taken aback nonetheless and tried to desperately shake him off, fearing it might have become the target of a predator in search of a quick meal, but Hop didn’t let go. Once it realized struggling was futile, the wooloo relaxed its body, probably already coming to terms with its certain death. Hop took a step back, and then another, and another, with the pokémon slowly following along. He continued to do this until they were at a safe distance from the gate.

“Listen,” Hop whispered to the wooloo, his voice soft, hoping to convey he meant no harm, “I’m going to let you go now, okay?” With that said, he slowly let go of its horns. Instead of running off in fear like one would expect, the wooloo simply stood there, looking dazed and unsure of what just occurred. “There we go.” Hop got down on his knees and ran a hand through its coat, watching with a smile as it closed its eyes and leaned into his touch. Its wool was almost as soft as Mimzy’s. As he did this, his eyes wandered to the wooden gate looking for damage and confirming that it thankfully wasn’t broken. If it had been then that would’ve been one hell of a hassle.

Then his gaze shifted to the Slumbering Weald itself.

This was a mistake.

For an unknown reason, Hop felt a chill run down his spine as soon as his eyes landed on the forest, and the temperature drastically dropped around him, making him feel like he’d been suddenly dropped into a pile of snow. Hop tried to look away and focus on the wooloo he was petting instead, but something about the Slumbering Weald seemed off—much more than usual, at least. Despite his parents’ (especially Leon’s) non-stop insistence of him staying as far away from the forest as physically possible, Hop almost never thought about it at all. It just didn’t strike him as a remarkable or interesting place to explore, so he simply ignored it like one would promptly close a flashy pop-up ad.

However, now that he was looking directly at the forest, as well as feeling like said forest was staring right back at him, Hop couldn’t help but feel weirdly drawn to it much like a frosmoth is drawn to the entrancing light of a lamp. It was dumb and nonsensical, he was aware, but it almost felt like… like he was seeing something he shouldn’t be, something forbidden.

Another chill ran down Hop’s spine.

_What the hell..._

“Dude!” Victor exclaimed, suddenly putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder, and Hop nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise. “Where did you learn to do that?!” Hop blinked, trying to wrap his head around what just happened. His mind felt somewhat hazy, like all of his thoughts had been replaced by television static. If the sudden scare from Victor wasn’t enough to snap him out of… whatever just happened, the feeling of something soft moving under his hand was the final push he needed.

Hop looked to his right and noticed that he was still petting the wild wooloo, his fingers curled around its silky wool and moving in a rhythm he didn’t realize he’d been keeping. Hop slowly withdrew his arm, much to the pokémon’s dismay, and rose to his feet, his mind finally filling in the gaps in his memory. Hm… Yeah, maybe the brain damage was getting worse. That was the only semi-reasonable explanation he had for whatever the fuck just came over him.

Hop spun on his heels just to find himself face-to-face with a bewildered Victor. Oh, right. He almost forgot that he’d been asked a question, which he didn’t even hear correctly. “Uh, come again?”

“How did you do the wooloo thing?” Victor repeated himself, pointing to the now pacified wooloo leaning against the stone fence. It was approached by Mimzy and the two started a friendly conversation that consisted of nothing but various tones of bleating and funny facial expressions. Well, at least Mimzy was having a good time. He wished he could say the same. “Hop,” Victor muttered, putting both his hands on Hop’s shoulders, his gaze fiery and unblinking, as if he was about to uncover the secrets of the universe, and for a moment Hop thought that maybe he was about to ask about the whole Slumbering Weald thing until Victor asked in a hushed tone, like he was inquiring about forbidden knowledge, “are you secretly a Wooloo Whisperer?”

Hop stared at him for a moment, processing what he’d just been told before he burst out laughing, doubling over and immediately regretting it. He forgot that he just recovered from falling from a goddamn set of stairs. Holy fuck, he was in so much pain. “Mate, that’s not a thing,” he said in between breaths (either from the pain or the laughter, he didn’t know). Victor huffed.

“I’m making it a thing, then,” he decided. “You’ll be appointed the first Wooloo Whisperer of Galar. It’s a very important title.” Before Hop could retort, Victor continued talking, dusting off his shirt and adjusting his monstrosity of a bag on his aching back. “Anyway, we should probably get going. Your dad’s gonna arrive any minute now and—”

_“Fuck!”_

Whatever Victor had expected Hop to do, it certainly wasn’t swearing with such intensity, like he’d directed all of his strength towards shouting that out in particular. It was almost comical. He didn’t get a chance to laugh, though, because in less than a second he found himself being pulled by the wrist as Hop used his free hand to whistle for Mimzy to follow. She gave her newfound friend one last nuzzle before curling into a ball of fluff and rolling behind them. Hop was sure that, for any neighbours that happened to be hanging around their front yards, they were a sight to behold. Two children covered in dirt and bruises sprinting like their lives depended on it whilst being followed by a sentient cotton ball.

Just a typical day in Postwick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, I let my hyperfixations get the best of me yet again.
> 
> Hello, everyone, and welcome to my projection— I mean, fanfic. I'm not gonna lie when I say that I was very excited to write this, probably because I haven't written a Pokémon fanfic in a long time. I've spent, like, an entire week planning this, and I can say it was well worth it. This can technically be considered an AU since I'm changing a few things, but the gist of it is that Hop deserves better and I'm giving him it. Oh, the angst tag? Uh, ignore that. It's gonna be fine... And, well, since I like to ramble, here's a few notes that I'll add every chapter.
> 
> — As you can probably guess, this fic is canon-divergent. It does follow the game's plot up to a certain point, but I've decided to add my own twist to the mix because I can.
> 
> — A few things you need to know right off the bat is that I don't capitalize a pokémon's name unless it's considered their actual name, nor do I capitalize the word pokémon itself. I know the games capitalize those things, but I prefer it this way.
> 
> — You may have noticed it, and yes, I did give Hop a shiny wooloo. Not only because wooloo has one of my favorite shinies, but it has some plot relevance, I swear.
> 
> — I am not british. I do not know british slang. I had to google most of the slang that's written out of the game script and try to, like, adapt it into my writing, but I still let some things slip past the radar, so please don't roast me too hard for that lol.
> 
> — Victor is from Unova (which is why he says 'mom' instead of 'mum'). He was originally supposed to be from Kanto but I wanted an excuse to have him say American slang. And also because Unova is one of my favorite regions.
> 
> — My updating schedule is nonexistent because when you have ADHD time isn't real.
> 
> Anyway, that's it for now! I hope you guys enjoyed this extremely self-indulgent fanfic :P if you guys have any questions or just wanna talk to me you can send me a pm at my tumblr account serenattaoperetta. I haven't posted anything there, like, at all, but I do plan to... eventually, I guess. Anyway, I'm probably going to go to sleep for now since I've been awake for god knows how long and, once again, when you have ADHD time isn't real. Peace.


	2. Are you feeling it now, Victor?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victor was _so_ going to kill Hop if he survived this.

Camellia Harley had been preparing lunch when she heard the sound of her front door violently swinging open.

With a knowing sigh she put her knife down, readying an impactful speech about how she had half a mind to tell Leon about all the shenanigans his son had pulled whilst under her care, and that she did not sign up to having to deal with a more excitable and destructive version of Leon. She might only be in her fifties but that was still way too old for all of this. Now don’t get her wrong, she loved Hop with all of her heart, he was a sweetheart as well as a near carbon copy of her beloved son in every way possible, but that boy really needed to _calm the hell down._

When she heard two sets of feet (as well as an extra set of hooves) stomping their way to the kitchen, Camellia spun on her heels, already prepared to scold her grandson and his friend for slamming her door open _again_ —seriously, what was with them and destroying doors?—but her mouth clamped shut when she saw the state they were in. Hop and Victor were covered from head to toe in dirt like they were just done rolling on the floor (which she really wouldn’t put past them), and she could see mild bruises and cuts on their bodies. Hop’s hair was a complete mess, and Victor’s hat was almost falling from his head, the latter trying to catch his breath as he tightly gripped his shirt with one hand. Mimzy was the only member of the trio who wasn’t completely covered in dirt, and she was well-known for liking to roll everywhere as a method of transportation.

Camellia knew the boys were troublemakers who often came home in need of a bath and some band-aids but this was a whole new level, even for them. Hop must’ve realized this was a bad look on them, since he tried (and failed) to fix his hair with one hand while Victor, who was still out of breath, hastily adjusted his hat, also taking this opportunity to place his bag—his extremely heavy, extremely unsightly bag—down, removing the extra weight from his poor, poor spine. They spilled specks of dirt onto Camellia's recently cleaned floor in the process. She decided to ignore that for now, as there was a lot to unpack here and the floor was the lowest thing on the list.

“What happened to you two?” Camellia asked, making her way towards them to assess the damage and whether they might need to go to a hospital or not. She wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to ignore broken bones in favour of seeing Leon arrive. Hop had been looking forward to this day for weeks now, after all. It’d been two months since they'd last seen each other in person.

Her grandson opened his mouth to answer her but Victor, who just recovered from the lack of air in his lungs, was faster. “We fell down the stairs.”

“Um, _no,”_ Hop corrected, his eyes narrowing as he shot Victor a glare, because _of course_ Victor would play dumb in front of Camellia (not that he would blame him for that, she was very intimidating). “You _pushed me_ down the stairs.”

“Yeah, but I fell too so it’s a lose-lose situation.”

“Arceus, you’re such a sh—” Hop was about to use a rather unflattering term to refer to his best friend whom he loved very much, but caught himself in the nick of time when he realized his poor, long-suffering grandmother was there, actively hearing them argue. He quickly corrected himself, hoping that whatever was about to come out of his mouth would sound better than calling Victor a shitstain. “—a soggy bag of potatoes.”

Victor appeared to have been caught off guard (nobody could blame him) for a second before swiftly recovering. “I don’t know whether I should be offended or flattered to be at the receiving end of such an innovative insult.” Neither did Hop, to be honest.

“Are you two okay?” Camellia questioned as she cut their argument short, deciding to focus on what was more important for now: the bruises. She could scold them later about how they shouldn’t be actively trying to kill each other… _again._ Honestly, how many times would she have to remind them? But again, now wasn’t the time for lectures. Now was the time to check for broken bones and concussions. Leon was arriving in Wedgehurst in half an hour and it was unlikely that he’d appreciate being greeted by a bruised and battered duo of boys first thing in the morning.

Hop dusted his jacket off. All of his clothes looked like they’d seen better days. Hopefully in the future he would have enough money to buy more durable jackets. “We’re hanging there,” was his reply. What he said wasn’t _technically_ a lie as he had yet to drop dead since rolling down the stairs and crashing straight into a stone fence. Was he tired? A little. Did Victor almost vomit his breakfast up halfway through their sprint? Sure. But they would probably walk this off. Coming to Postwick made him realize that his ten-year-old body was surprisingly resilient.

“Just barely,” Victor unhelpfully added.

“And whose fault is that?”

“...You got me there.”

Camellia sighed. She couldn’t trust them to treat the situation seriously, so that burden would have to fall on her shoulders. The first thing she did was line up the two of them and start patting their arms to check for broken bones. Thankfully for them, it turned out that nothing was broken, although they winced in pain when she squeezed certain places. They’d have to get that checked out later, but it was nothing that required immediate attention. The second thing she did was check for a concussion by asking them questions and analyzing their answers. Everything checked out; no apparent signs of brain injury. With that done, she concluded the impromptu medical evaluation, thoroughly disappointed that she was having to use her nursing knowledge from her twenties to make sure her grandchild and his friend weren’t going to have to spend the day in the emergency room instead of with her son. They had no idea how lucky they were to have walked out of this with just scratches and aching muscles. As an ex-nurse, she had a lot of horror stories about these kinds of situations.

“Everything’s clear,” Camellia informed them, withdrawing her hand and crossing her arms, her expression going from concerned nurse to disappointed grandmother. “Hop, Victor, how many times am I going to have to ask you to stay out of trouble? I thought you’d at least make an effort today for Leon’s sake!” Hop and Victor had enough common sense to look sheepish instead of trying to defend themselves, because they had no excuse.

Speaking of sheepish, Mimzy bleated beside the duo, rolling (literally) up to Camellia and nuzzling her leg. Hop made a face. The betrayal. _The audacity._ His grandmother got down on one knee and started petting the wooloo, who closed her eyes and leaned into the gentle touch. “It’s good to know that at least _one_ of you can take care of themselves. Maybe you should learn something from Mimzy here.” The wooloo bleated proudly at the praise.

Hop huffed. He never expected to live to see the day his pokémon would be used as a role model for good behaviour. “You wouldn’t be saying that if you saw the way she headbutted Aunt Mary’s door this morning. In fact, she’s been doing it for weeks!”

“And yet she still looks much healthier than the both of you,” Camellia expressionlessly pointed out, and she was right. That seemed to have shut them up for now. Patting Mimzy’s head one last time, she rose to her feet and gave the two children before her a final disapproving glance. Hop and Victor were looking everywhere but her eyes. Between a boy who rarely visited his grandmother and one who didn’t have grandparents at all, the two of them didn’t have much experience with being severely reprimanded by a very tired middle-aged woman. “I hope this is the last time I have to repeat myself.” Her voice tone left no room for discussion, because she wasn’t expecting a debate on the issue. It was non-negotiable. Luckily, Hop and Victor seemed to have gotten the message.

“Yes, nanna.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Camellia checked her wristwatch. How much time had they just wasted with this nonsense? “Hm. Leon’s arriving in twenty minutes. You’ll need to hurry if you want to get there in time.” It was a thirty minute walk from Postwick to Wedgehurst, assuming that you were walking at a relatively fast pace. They’d definitely need to sprint if they wanted to meet him before a crowd started gathering, because that was without a doubt going to happen when it came to a celebrity like the undefeated champion of the Galar region. The one thing they could count on was the fact that the population of Wedgehurst was nowhere near as big as the one of Wyndon or Hammerlocke. That was the key difference between a mild wave of fans and an entire tsunami heading Leon’s way.

Which meant they had to go.

_Now._

“Time to go!” Hop announced, his indoor voice long-forgotten, as he grabbed Victor’s wrist and pulled him towards the front door. Mimzy promptly followed them without needing the whistle signal. “We’ll be back soon, nanna!” 

Hop heard Camellia say something on his way out but didn’t register the words, adrenaline rushing through his veins as he ran as fast as physically possible with Victor and Mimzy (who was now rolled up in a ball) in tow. He could feel the cool wind of the morning hit his face as he dashed for the route—Route 1, a name he’d memorized after multiple trips to Wedgehurst with his grandmother for groceries—that connected the two towns together. He could hear a yelp of protest coming from behind him. Victor appeared to be unable to keep up the pace. It was only natural, since Hop knew he was faster. The multiple races they’ve had throughout the two months they’d been friends for proved that, but now wasn’t the time to bet on who was faster. They were already late as it was, and the crowd wouldn’t wait for them to arrive.

So much for waking up early...

After a few minutes of running, Hop eventually let go of Victor’s wrist, knowing that he would follow without the need to be dragged around like the soggy bag of potatoes he was. Not only was that true but Victor also kept a much better pace when the upper half of his body wasn’t being forcefully pulled forward, which made it harder to keep his balance. As it turned out, however, that didn’t matter a whole lot because somehow Victor kept finding pebbles to accidentally trip on. It was hilarious the first time it happened, because it was always Hop who managed to trip on things while running, but after the third time he started to question whether Victor would make it to Wedgehurst without losing a few teeth in the process.

“You can do it, Vic!” Hop encouraged while looking over his shoulder.

He wasn’t sure of how long they’d been running for, but Victor looked ready to keel over. Hop didn’t know why he didn’t predict this would happen, since the brunette never had much stamina to begin with. Behind him, his wooloo rolled beside them at a steady pace, her previously pristine wool gathering specks of dirt and small pebbles along the way. She would definitely need a bath after this. One thing they were yet to understand was how she knew where she was going as she rolled around. When he didn’t receive a response, Hop decided to use a different approach. “Come on, mate! Even Mimzy’s doing better than you!”

Maybe he hit a nerve there.

“Oh wow, you’re so freaking right!” Victor yelled right back at him in between gulps of air, voice dripping with sarcasm as he narrowed his eyes. If glares could kill, Hop would have dropped dead right there. “I’ll just curl up into a fucking ball right now and let the wind carry me like a tumbleweed! Thanks for opening my third eye, oh wise one!” He got even more aggravated when the only thing he received as a response was a snort. After multiple races with Hop, running had been forever tainted for him. He just really, really hated running—more specifically, he hated the feeling of his lungs and legs almost bursting into flames after a race. He knew he should’ve asked Camellia for a fucking glass of water. His throat was so dry. “When we reach Wedgehurst—” he continued, taking another deep breath, “—I’m going to kill you.”

“We’re not going to make it there at all if you don’t hurry!” Hop responded, still bursting with energy. “So you’re never going to get your revenge if you don’t do the tumbleweed thing right now. Come on, Vic, do your magic!” Victor wished he’d been blessed with whatever was going on with Hop’s lungs. They’d been running for, what, ten minutes at this point? Hop didn’t even look tired at all, _and_ he was able to sass him without having to breathe in between words. This wasn’t fair. “We’re almost there!” A blatant lie. There was nothing around them but pasture and farms and windmills as far as the eye could see.

 _The hell we are,_ Victor thought. He would have scoffed if he weren’t trying not to actively choke to death.

They continued to run for who knows how long. If not for the fact that this was the only possible route one could take from Postwick to Wedgehurst, Victor would have guessed that they pulled a Leon—which, surprisingly enough, was an actual expression in Galar—and got themselves lost. The wind continued to blow with as much intensity as before, making a mess of their hair (which was already a mess to begin with), but in contrast the sunlight grew harsher with time.

Victor grew more and more tired as the minutes passed, almost choking on his own saliva at one point, and Hop decided to slow his pace a tad in solidarity, joking that maybe they should run a bit faster lest they died of heat stroke. Victor didn’t find it funny at all. Mimzy continued to roll alongside them without any sign of stopping, and didn’t even seem to get dizzy, or show signs of being capable of it. Hop could only pray that she would listen when he eventually commanded her to stop, because the result would be a thirteen-pound cotton ball crashing onto an unsuspecting crowd at max speed, not unlike a bowling ball heading straight towards a row of neatly organized pins at the end of a bowling lane. Hopefully they could avoid this in time.

He wouldn’t lie, though, that mental image was pretty funny.

After more running and coughing and wheezing and misery on Victor’s part, the two of them could finally see Wedgehurst in the distance. Hop perked up immediately at the sight, glad that they had made it after so much hassle. Victor felt nothing but relief, because that meant he could finally rest and maybe drink some water when they arrived. He could barely feel his legs at this point, as they’d long gone numb. Hell, if not for the fact that he was still up and running he wouldn’t even be sure he still _had_ legs.

Hop whistled for Mimzy to slow down, praying to all existing deities that she’d actually listen to him. Luck was on his side that day, because upon hearing the signal she gradually started losing momentum until she’d stopped rolling completely, opting to follow her trainer by foot instead. Good, crisis averted! Hop decided to start slowing down as well since there was no need for him to run anymore, what with Wedgehurst being two minutes away from them and everything. He waited for Victor to catch up to him, giving his friend a look of pity. The poor boy looked like a walking corpse, his clothes disheveled and hair a complete mess. Hop wouldn’t comment on it, though, because he probably didn’t look that much better himself.

Once they had arrived in Wedgehurst, Hop noticed there was already a crowd gathered outside of the train station. Cheering and clapping could be heard, and the energy and positivity radiating from them was almost contagious. Luckily there weren’t many people there, so the three of them were able to squeeze through without a problem. The adults gladly allowed them to pass, and Hop suspected that may have been because they were children and thus unable to see what was happening from the back, but he’d take it. Not like it mattered either way, since they were tired and thirsty and really needed this. Besides, Victor managed to survive the marathon to Wedgehurst without passing out. He deserved a front row seat to this one.

Hop wasn’t at all surprised to find that Leon and his trusty charizard, Typhon, were already there, since it must’ve taken the three of them more than twenty minutes to run all the way from Postwick to Wedgehurst.

From what he could gather based on his father’s words, he was giving his adoring fans yet another speech about the power of trusting your pokémon and growing stronger together. Hop already knew these speeches by heart, since Leon would talk about the subject in detail to whoever was available to listen—and, back at home in Wyndon, that happened to be him and Raihan, plus all of their pokémon, although none of them were the talkative type. That didn’t really matter right now, though. After all, he was finally meeting his father again after two whole months of not seeing each other! He couldn’t wait to—

_“GRAAWRR!”_

Hop’s eyes widened when the piercing sound of a feral cry rang through the air, hitting his eardrums with the equivalence of being physically run over by a brakeless freight train. He nearly jumped out of his skin in sheer surprise, feeling his blood pressure spike for a second or two as he tried to process what just happened. Instinctively looking up, Hop saw Typhon let out an earth-shaking roar which was instantly met with a manic cheer from the crowd, as well as a few winces from the people in the front.

Hop allowed his shoulders to fall as he relaxed, almost immediately recovering from the fright. He’d been deep in thought and wasn’t paying attention to what Leon and Typhon were doing, which was why he wasn’t prepared to hear something that loud coming from his father’s usually quiet and gentle charizard (who was probably still riding the high of winning yet another battle), especially without warning. Neither was Victor, apparently, as he was clutching his shirt as if to prevent his heart from bolting out of his chest. Out of all three of them, Mimzy seemed to be the only one unbothered, surprisingly enough. It was good to know that good old Typhon hadn’t lost his fire, at least. After making sure that they were all okay and decently presentable—which they very obviously were not, considering the amount of dirt and sweat they were covered in—Hop started frantically waving a hand in the air to get Leon’s attention.

“Pa, over here!” he called, grinning from ear to ear, his utter excitement making him stand out from the crowd.

It was hard to miss the gleam in Leon’s golden-colored irises as he walked up to his son, the crowd parting slightly to give them some much needed space. “So,” he started with a chuckle, and Hop couldn’t help but notice how much he missed the sound of his voice, “my number-one fan in all the world has come out of his way to pick me up!” Leon’s gaze softened as he gently ruffled Hop’s hair, his fingers running through the dark purple locks nearly identical to his own. “Look at you, Hop! I reckon you’ve grown…” he paused for a second, putting a hand on his chin in faux-contemplation, “...exactly an inch and a quarter since the last time I saw you!”

The gleam in Hop’s eyes matched Leon’s perfectly. “Is that the sort of sharp eye that’s kept you undefeated for so long?” He’d asked that in jest, but Hop already knew he was going to receive an actual answer for that.

“But of course! Paying attention to the tiniest of details, no matter how relevant, is crucial in the heat of battle!” Leon informed him wisely, withdrawing his hand and letting it drop to his side. Hop barely noticed Typhon marching up to them until he felt his hot breath on his cheek as the charizard affectionately nuzzled him. Despite looking like a very dangerous pokémon that could destroy an opponent in seconds and should not be trifled with, he was just a very cuddly and needy sweetheart in the shape of a dragon. Nobody knew this better than Hop, who’d been around the charizard since he was a baby. Leon watched them fondly. “Typhon missed you too, it seems.”

“It’s nice to see you again, boy.” Hop scratched Typhon under his chin, holding back a laugh when he heard a purr coming from him. Oh yeah, he forgot Typhon could do that. “You’re just a big purrloin with wings, aren’t you?” The purring intensified as a response.

Leon’s eyes shifted from the two of them to the new face amongst the crowd, one whose gaze had the same mischievous twinkle as his son’s despite a grimace adorning his features at the moment. “And these bright eyes over here…” he said while pretending to think, gaining the boy’s immediate attention. “I got it! You must be Victor—am I right?”

Victor opened his mouth to speak, but shut it right up when no sound came. He wasn’t sure if it was because he didn’t know what to say or because the dehydration was clouding his judgement and making him draw a blank. He heard whispers coming from behind him, and that’s when he realized that the crowd was still there, watching these events unfold. Victor never had his every move monitored by so many people before. It was _terrifying._ Thankfully Leon continued talking, which meant he didn’t need to think of something to say on the spot, which would probably just embarrass him further in front of everyone. “I’ve heard loads about you from my son.”

That was the final push Victor needed for his brain to finally start functioning again. “Good things, I hope,” he swiftly responded while sporting a smile, allowing his true personality to shine little by little. The comment elicited a chortle from the champion, and he could see Hop, who was still petting Typhon, grinning out of the corner of his eye. Victor wasn’t able to decipher his friend’s expression, so he could only hope that Hop was merciful enough to have spared Leon the details of their more dubious adventures and that the champion of the Galar region didn’t currently know about some of the shenanigans they pulled during these past two months.

“Definitely good things, I assure you,” Leon replied with a nod. Victor allowed a sigh to escape his lips. This was the most relief he’d felt this entire week, and they _just_ fell down the stairs half an hour ago. Victor’s relief was short-lived since Hop decided to join them after having played enough with Typhon, who was following him closely like an attention-starved yamper. He had to admit that this was an adorable, if not somewhat odd, sight.

“We should get back to Postwick now, or the food’s gonna get cold!” Victor was about to ask if Hop only thought with his stomach half the time since it wasn’t even noon yet, but was hit with a pain of hunger before he had the chance to open his mouth. His mind went to the rest of the scrambled eggs he left uneaten on his plate before leaving the house. All of the calories acquired from half the scrambled eggs had been wasted on their damn marathon to Wedgehurst. Victor shouldn’t have left the house without eating a proper meal, and Hop shouldn’t have insisted they ran for twenty-five fucking minutes. Everything they did up to this point was a terrible idea in hindsight, but that sentence had become their catchphrase at this point.

Hop’s cheeky grin widened as he started to walk towards Route 1 without waiting for his father or friend, fastening his pace with every step. “Anyway, race you guys home!”

 _“No!”_ Was Victor’s immediate reply, his eyes narrowing as he felt his legs starting to ache again at the thought of having to repeat this unpleasant experience. Maybe he shouldn’t have been this loud, because the crowd from Wedgehurst was _still_ watching them—seriously, do these people not have jobs or something?—but at least it got Hop to stop in his tracks. “I’ve been running without rest for like half an hour while being mercilessly roasted alive by the sun! I’m _dying_ here, Hop.” Victor wanted to say he was exaggerating, but that would be a lie. He hadn’t had a single drop of water since they hit the road and his body was yearning for any sign that Victor hadn’t been lost in a desert or something of the sort for an entire week, seeing as that was how his exhaustion came across from a biological standpoint.

Hop gave him a look of sympathy, putting his hands on his jacket’s pockets. He looked like a child that’s been caught stealing candy at midnight. He didn’t seem entirely bothered to have been put in the spotlight, though. With a shrug, he simply replied, “Whoops, I forgot.”

Victor was incredulous. “I told you ten separate times!”

“I couldn’t hear it over the wheezing sounds your lungs were making,” Hop swiftly riposted, and Victor had never felt such bloodlust in his entire life.

“You little—”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Leon interrupted, raising his hands in the air to signal that maybe they should chill for a second. “Let’s not fight in public, you two.”

It was at that moment that realization hit Victor like a truck and he froze up. They were _still_ being watched. He had his back turned to the crowd, so he couldn’t see their reactions. That was truly a blessing in disguise, because he didn’t want to know. Victor couldn’t help but feel that Hop was very lucky that his father and the crowd were there because otherwise they’d have thrown hands there and then. Still, he wanted to save the little dignity he had left at this point. Their heads turned to Leon when the older man snapped his fingers, eyes lighting up as an idea struck him. He turned to Victor and casually asked, “Victor, how about you let Typhon take you home? That way you won’t have to walk all the way back to Postwick!”

“Great idea!” Hop immediately agreed. The father-son duo looked way more excited about this than Victor and it showed. Hesitance was written all over his face. Hop turned to his friend and added, “You’ll get there in no time! Typhon’s a real fast flyer!”

“You say it like that makes it better,” he blanched, side-eyeing the charizard with caution. The sharp claws and teeth, the burning flame in his tail, the glint in his slitted eyes… everything about the dragon screamed _‘dangerous fire lizard, do not approach’._ How could Hop pet that thing without thinking twice? Victor was convinced Hop must’ve been appointed the ‘most likely to die young’ category in his school’s yearbook at some point in his life. “What if he drops me?”

“He won’t,” Leon assured Victor, patting him on the shoulder, “you just have to hold onto him really tight!”

 _Oh, so the burden of not dropping from the sky falls on me in the end? Thanks! Not like I mind dying or anything!_ Victor wanted to retort, but he felt like that would be a bad look in front of so many people. Besides, Leon was a really nice guy. He didn’t want to lash out at an innocent person who was just trying to help, especially when that innocent person happened to be the champion. With a defeated sigh, Victor finally surrendered. “Fine, but if I die I’m haunting all of you.” He was really hoping it wouldn’t come to this but, just in case it did, Victor started considering which of the abandoned houses spread throughout Postwick would be the best to spend the rest of eternity in.

“That’s the spirit!” Leon encouraged, signaling for his ace to carefully approach. Victor had to quell a flinch when Typhon stopped at his side, swearing that the dragon’s steps were making the ground shake. Most charizards were only around five feet tall or so, which didn’t make them as intimidating as one might imagine them to be when seeing pictures and videos of them standing tall and mighty. Typhon, however, was much bigger than your average charizard. He surpassed his own trainer in height and his wingspan appeared to be longer than average as well. It was no wonder that he was considered Leon’s strongest pokémon. Typhon was a tank amongst trucks, probably capable of crushing his opponents like soda cans if he so wished.

Victor averted his gaze, feeling like he might spontaneously combust if he continued to stare.

“Typhon, be gentle with him, okay? Make sure he doesn’t slip,” Leon instructed his charizard, who replied with a nod and a huff of hot air. _Make sure he doesn’t slip,_ Victor repeated in his head. He had forgotten this was a possibility until it was brought up again. Leon turned to the pale, shivering mess that had become Victor, and either didn’t notice or consciously chose to ignore the boy’s dwindling mental state, because he just continued talking as if Victor’s imminent panic attack wasn’t clear enough. “Come on, kiddo. I’ll hoist you up.”

Victor let him; it was too late to back down at this point. Mounting Typhon’s back hadn’t been too hard of a task, as the charizard helpfully lowered himself so that Victor actually had a chance of climbing him in the first place. He placed himself between Typhon’s wings, wrapping his arms firmly around his neck. His scales felt cool—which was ironic for a fire-breathing pokémon—and smooth to the touch, like touching a polished marble floor. After adjusting his position and making sure that his grip on Typhon was very, _very_ firm, Victor allowed himself to relax just a little bit, the anxiety pooling at the bottom of his stomach vanishing little by little. “You know,” he observed, the corners of his mouth twitching into a hesitant smile, “this actually isn’t half ba—”

He never got to finish that sentence.

“Typhon, up!” Hop’s sudden command left no room for discussion in Typhon’s mind, having already been accustomed to hearing this particular sentence for the past six years or so.

He instinctively spread his wings and lowered his body, preparing for takeoff. Victor, still not mentally and spiritually prepared for the ride, felt his heart stop there and then once he noticed the movement under him. All color drained from his face at the horrifying realization. It was a matter of literal seconds before they were high in the air. It didn’t stop there, though, because they continued to rise higher with record-breaking speed, the wind almost blowing his hat off his head. Victor held onto the charizard tightly like his life depended on it, because it actually fucking did. He hasn’t even realized he was screaming bloody murder until his throat started feeling sore and he had to stop. They were flying so high and so fast that he couldn’t even hear himself crying in terror.

Victor was _so_ going to kill Hop if he survived this.

Meanwhile, Hop and Leon (as well as the crowd in Wedgehurst) watched from the ground as the two of them slowly disappeared above the clouds. Victor’s screaming became less and less audible the higher they went up to the point where he could no longer be heard at all, and Hop couldn’t help but be amused. He wasn’t expecting Typhon to actually listen to him, especially not when it came to a command he’d been using since he was four. Now he actually felt kinda bad. He hoped Victor wouldn’t murder him too badly after that, but the chances of him being spared were slim. Maybe it was time to start writing his will. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, he heard a bleating from his side, and Hop realized he had completely forgotten about Mimzy’s existence for a moment there.

Maybe he should leave all of his possessions to her. She’d definitely appreciate it.

As Hop followed Victor and Typhon with his gaze until they’d become nothing but a tiny black dot in the sky, Leon turned to address the audience that was still there... for some reason. “Well, everyone!” he cheerfully piped up, and all attention went from whatever was going on with that poor screaming boy to him, “I bid you farewell for today! But don’t fret...” And, in true champion fashion, he struck his famous Charizard Pose, the crowd going wild as they repeated said pose in return with zest. “I’ll always be around to make sure everyone in Galar can have a champion time!” The cheering and clapping and declarations of undying love intensified.

Hop turned to his father, growing impatient and hungry, and started pulling him by the wrist, hoping that would make him hurry. He knew the crowd in Wedgehurst needed to be addressed, but they’d already had Leon for two months. It was his turn now. “Let’s go, pa. Nanna’s waiting for us.” Not really. Camellia was already used to Hop leaving the house for indefinite amounts of time, sometimes going as far as to spend the night at Victor’s house for sleepovers, but mentioning her was a good excuse since Leon hadn’t seen his mother in quite a while. After all, it's been two months. Two months of non-stop interviews and battling and filing boring paperwork without having time to relax. Leon must be excited to return home. Who wouldn’t be?

“Really? Better not keep her waiting, then!” With one last wave to the crowd they finally started moving, much to Hop’s relief.

While heading to the exit, something regarding his grandmother suddenly popped up in his head, and he thought Leon might get a kick out of it. “By the way, apparently I’ve been officially appointed your guide yamper because yesterday nanna told me to make sure you don’t get lost again,” Hop informed his father, earning an earnest laugh and a head shake in response.

“She truly has no faith in me, huh?”

Hop snorted. “Can you blame her?”

“Rude but fair.”

Hop—his entire family, actually—liked to emphasize how hopeless Leon was when it came to finding his way through places. The first time he told Victor about it his friend had thought he was exaggerating. That was, until Hop pulled out his Rotom-phone to show him dozens upon dozens of articles detailing all of the times Leon Harley, the unbeatable champion of Galar and a battling mastermind, was found at increasingly odd places that were far from where he should've actually been. The articles dated as far as fifteen years ago, when Leon first started the Gym Challenge. He had climbed mountains, explored forests and trekked through deserts in order to get to where he needed to be. Victor was appalled yet impressed. That seemed to be the only appropriate reaction to something like this.

Mimzy’s excited bleating filled the air as she pranced around them, excited to see Leon again. She could recognize his presence anywhere—imposing yet comforting at the same time. He smiled softly while lowering himself to pet her head, and she gladly let him. Hop smiled as he watched them, hands in his pockets as they entered Route 1, the cool breeze of the morning greeting them almost immediately. For a moment Hop thought about challenging his father to a race again, but quickly discarded the thought. Everything was so peaceful right now...

It was time to go home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE!
> 
> I was going to post this, like, three days ago but I managed to fool myself into procrastination and here we are. Anyway, I wanted to thank all of you for the response to this fic! I appreciate all of your comments and kudos and bookmarks, and it makes me really happy! Anyway, I thought these chapters were going to be shorter than they actually are lol. I can't escape the long chapters. Anyway, here's the obligatory chapter notes!
> 
> — Camellia is a flower name much like Leon (dandelion) and Hop (humulus). I thought I'd stay true to the theme. Also, an unnecessary fun fact, but I'm really passionate about character names, so I spent around ten minutes looking through flowers on Wikipedia to find the perfect name. My search history was filled with flowers for a few hours. Why yes, I do have a problem.
> 
> — Most pokémon in this fic have nicknames. Not only because, as we've already established, I'm really passionate about names, but because I feel like it helps differentiate pokémon of the same species that have different trainers.
> 
> — Victor's probably never going to step into an airplane again lol.
> 
> — Yes, 'pull a Leon' is indeed a saying in the Galar region. It started growing in popularity a few years after he became the Champion. At first people just assumed it was because he was young and had never left his home town, which was understandable, but after years of getting lost people realized this wasn't a 'country boy is confused by the city' thing but a 'this guy legit can't read a map' thing. Leon wholeheartedly embraces the saying.
> 
> And that was Chapter 2! I'm having a lot of fun writing this fic and I hope you guys are also having fun reading it.


	3. Unu, du, tri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s showtime, everyone!”

“By the way, are you ever going to tell me why you look like you dove head-first into a sandstorm?”

Hop bit the inside of his cheek. He knew this was going to be brought up eventually. If Leon hadn’t done it, Camellia would’ve mentioned it. He found it a little suspicious that Leon hadn’t said anything about his disheveled appearance during their ten minutes of conversation. He was probably expecting his son to say it out of his own volition (which he definitely wasn’t planning on doing). Either way, it would all come down to this one way or the other. Hop paused for a moment, carefully considering his options. Lying, of course, wasn’t one of them. Camellia and Victor were aware of the fall, and if Leon brought it up again in their presence they might unknowingly spill the beans to him. He could try a distraction, maybe change the subject or something, but Leon wasn’t a three-year-old and would surely see right through it, and it would only make him more suspicious. It was better to just admit it and save face while he still could.

“I fell down the stairs.” His voice tone was very nonchalant, as if he was discussing the weather and not the fact that he may have almost broken his neck.

“You... fell down the stairs,” Leon echoed as slowly as humanly possible. The gears turning in his head were almost visible.

“Yeah. Victor too. He was the one who pushed me, actually.” Maybe he should’ve mentioned this first. His father probably thought he fell down the stairs on his own like a fool. Hop wouldn’t blame him for thinking that, though. Just like Leon couldn’t navigate his way through a straight line if his life depended on it, Hop was unable to have more than two functioning brain cells—sometimes three depending on how generous the universe was feeling towards him—at any given time, which often resulted in regrettable choices on his part, and these led to some… mild injuries, putting it lightly. On the bright side, his grandmother finally had some use for that first aid kit that’d been gathering dust in her bathroom.

“Are you two alright?” Ah, there it was: the fatherly concern. This was the reason he wanted to keep the fall a secret in the first place. Leon wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he tended to be a bit…  _ overprotective. _ Hop couldn’t say it wasn’t warranted, though. He’d always been a trouble magnet. Arceus knows how Leon and Raihan managed to keep him alive and whole for ten damn years.

“I’ll manage,” he finally responded with a lazy shrug, hands inside the pocket of his jacket as he watched Mimzy caper ahead of them. “Nanna says I don’t have brain damage so it’s fine.”  _ It’s fine.  _ Leon raised an eyebrow upon hearing that. Hop’s definition of fine was a little skewed, but he seemed physically in the clear; there was no limping or particularly nasty bruises or anything of the sort. Besides, his mother used to be a nurse. If there was something seriously wrong with Hop that required hospitalization, his parents would be the first people she’d notify.

“You’ve really changed since you came to Postwick, you know?” Leon pondered aloud, thinking about how his son appeared to be much livelier now. His eyes were visibly shining brighter than they did when he was cooped up in their house back at Wyndon. Maybe the countryside awoke something within him. “It seems that now you’re much more… adventurous.” Hop let out a sound that kind of resembled a chuckle but wasn’t quite there yet. What a very generous way of saying he gave in to his caveman instincts and became one with the earth.

Hop’s lips curled into a familiar smirk. “Are you calling me feral?”

“Perhaps,” Leon responded, his impish smile matching his son’s—an almost perfect copy, as Raihan would often say—and nudged him gently with an elbow once he spotted a hint of a pout making its way to the boy’s face at the answer. “Hey, you had to inherit  _ something  _ from Raihan.” That was mostly a joke. Leon’s husband, bless his heart, was more chill than he had any right to be.

Hop immediately quipped, not missing a beat, “I inherited his sense of direction.” He then pretended to eye Leon’s clothes from top to bottom. “Also his sense of fashion.”

Hop had already gotten used to seeing his father wearing his outrageous outfit every single day, although he rarely commented on it for his own sanity’s sake as they did not need a repeat of the infamous ‘are capes really part of the gay agenda or did Leon Harley make this up to fool others into thinking that it was an acceptable accessory to wear as an adult?’ argument that had become somewhat of an inside joke between the Harley-Wyver family members. Everyone in the region was aware that their revered champion was the walking definition of fashionably challenged. That was just a fact that they had to live with.

“There’s nothing wrong with my sense of fashion!” Leon exclaimed, thoroughly offended, even though he was aware that he was fighting a losing battle.

“Sometimes if you believe in a lie long enough it starts becoming the truth,” Hop wisely recited, sounding more like an old man with decades of experience under his belt and less like a child verbally drop-kicking his father for the fashion crime of wearing a cape filled with logos. Leon had never received such a poetic middle finger in his entire life, and from his own child no less. He was very wounded, but also strangely proud. Hop continued talking, disregarding the silence. “You’d get along with Victor’s mum. She also looks like she’s constantly nearing a fashion meltdown.” Hop did have to wonder: what was it with parents and their disastrous fashion sense? Even worse was that Mary seemed to be rubbing off on Victor, if the hideous hat he insisted on always wearing was anything to go by.

“Oh, really?” Leon inquired as he raised a brow in curiosity. This was the first time he’d heard Hop talk about Victor’s mother without it having something to do with Victor himself. He had to admit he was rather interested in the Ludwig family. Nobody ever thought about moving to a small no-name town like Postwick since the big cities held more job opportunities, so when his son called him one day talking about the mysterious new neighbours that had just moved in he was very surprised.

“Yeah, none of the things she wears match with one another,” Hop explained with an expression of bemusement, and then turned to his father with such an innocent twinkle in his eyes that the next words he uttered threw Leon for a loop and he felt like someone being hurled off a swing ride into the unforgiving embrace of the abyss at max velocity. “Is this what a midlife crisis is like?”

_ Midlife crisis. _

Leon sputtered, racking his brain in an attempt to come up with an answer that didn’t make him sound like an old man in denial about his fleeting youth. “Hop, I’m thirty-one, I’m not  _ that _ old!” That sounded very unconvincing and he was painfully aware. Raihan would definitely have come up with a better answer, and he was  _ older _ than Leon (even if just for a year). In spite of that, he was, as the younger generation would’ve called it, ‘hip and cool’, what with him being constantly glued to his phone and in touch with his younger fans and their cryptic memes. He once tried to explain to his husband why his fans were so obsessed with clowns. It took Leon a few minutes to get it but he did, so at least he has that going for him.

Hop, as expected, had not been swayed by such a flawless argument. He gave Leon a comforting pat on his forearm much like one would do to a stray skitty or a geriatric patient in distress. “Don’t worry, pa, I still love you even if you’re ancient.”

“...Thanks.”

Leon decided the best course of action was to change the subject in order to prevent further harm to his already fragile ego. Hop pitifully relented, much to his relief. They continued to talk about various different subjects, including Leon’s amazing battle prowess and how boring the paperwork that came after was in comparison, Hop’s entertaining adventures in Postwick (although he saved a few of the more dangerous ones he had to himself), how Raihan and the rest of their pokémon were doing, things like that.

Mimzy continued to merrily prance around them, occasionally chasing a blipbug or caterpie that happened to cross her path in an attempt to make new friends. Hop watched her with fondness. He was glad she got to make friends that weren’t his parents’ pokémon. The wind grew stronger as they walked, the cool breeze bringing relief in contrast to the harsh and relentless heat of the sun that only brought misery and pain and sunburns. They’d consider it a success if their skin wasn’t peeling by the end of the day.

It was only a matter of time before the father-son duo reached Camellia’s house in Postwick. They, however, had been too distracted with their conversation to notice it in the distance, only realizing they were already there when their eyes landed on the familiar rusty mailbox that sat in front of the stone fencing surrounding the property. 

As they approached the house, Hop noticed how Victor was resting in their front yard, opting to sit on the ground instead of one of the chairs that they had available outside. He was holding a glass of water with shaky hands, his face still pale and hat askew in his head. He apparently had yet to recover from the unexpected trip with Typhon. Speaking of which, the charizard was curled protectively around Victor, his head resting on the boy’s lap.

It was an odd sight.

“Vic!” Hop eagerly called while he waved one hand in the air and, despite not being close enough to be sure, he could swear that Victor was glaring daggers at him. He had the right.

Upon hearing Hop’s voice, Typhon lifted his head from Victor’s lap and untangled himself from around him, propping himself up with surprising agility for a two-hundred pound beast. Leon was the first person he came to greet, burying his nose in his trainer’s messy hair, a gesture that was received with a laugh and more petting.

While his father was busy taking care of the charizard and telling him what a good boy he was, Hop decided to take a leap of faith and walk up to his dear friend, silently praying that his bloodlust had been appeased by this point because otherwise this would end up being turned into a future episode of a true crime series (which wouldn’t be necessarily bad for him). Mimzy—dear, innocent Mimzy—accompanied him throughout this five-foot journey, never once leaving his side, because that’s what true friends— oh, nevermind, she went running after another blipbug.

That’s fine.

Once the two were within arm’s length from each other, Hop decided to strike a friendly conversation to get things going. He could’ve asked Victor how he was doing like a regular person, but the instinct to be a little shit spoke louder and he ended up blurting out, “Alright, mate? You looked like you were gonna shit a brick back there.”

Luckily Victor did not murder Hop on the spot, despite him clearly deserving it. Instead he decided to join in, even in his fragile state. “A brick? More like an entire house,” Victor responded indignantly while taking another sip of water, the glass shaking slightly in his hands. It was unclear whether he did it to calm his nerves or if he was still thirsty from the mini-marathon his friend forced him to endure. It didn’t really matter.

“Are you okay?” Hop questioned, and he was being serious this time. Victor looked very shaken. He hoped the flight wasn’t too traumatizing for that poor soul. Typhon tended to be a little intense when it came to things like that. Hop knew this from first-hand experience.

Victor’s glare could burn a hole through metal. “Do I  _ look _ okay?”

“No,” Hop replied, somewhat guilt-stricken. He almost sat down next to his friend but decided against it for some reason. It didn’t feel like the right move. Instead of thinking about what to do with himself, he attempted to lift Victor’s spirits up with another joke. “But, in my humble defense, you almost never look fine by regular human standards so I can’t really tell if that’s a normal level of near-death for you or not.” It was a risky gamble. Either Victor would laugh or challenge him to a fistfight. Hop was okay with either outcome.

He was thankful that Victor was feeling merciful that day, because the boy just chuckled wearily instead of throwing hands like one would expect. “You’re so lucky I can’t feel my legs right now, dude.”

“You should get that checked out.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Victor faux-agreed, setting his half-full glass of water aside. “I’ll crawl my way to the hospital, go up to the lady on the counter and be like, ‘excuse me, miss, can you please check my legs? My dumbass friend got his dad’s dragon to yeet me  _ fifty feet _ in the air and I think I lost my femurs halfway through the trip.’ I bet she’ll be really thrilled to hear that.”

Hop snorted. “At least we don’t have to worry about brain damage.”

“Yes, especially you,” Victor emphasized, his lips curling upwards into a tiny smirk, “since you have nothing to damage in there.”

“Fair. I deserve that.”

The two of them grew silent when they heard two sets of footsteps approaching, one of them heavier than the other. It wasn’t hard to guess whom they belonged to. “Are you kids having fun?” Leon asked, hands on his hips, completely unaware of what had just occurred between Victor and Hop. Typhon, ever the loyal companion, stood by his side, his wings open to their full wingspan in an impressive display of… whatever he was trying to accomplish. Either way, it was mesmerizing. A little terrifying, sure, but mesmerizing nonetheless. Victor was too busy staring at the charizard in awe to say anything, so that burden fell on Hop.

“Yes, definitely!” he responded in a way that sounded a tad forced. Thankfully Leon seemed none the wiser, so Hop decided to catch two rookidees with one ball by loudly and obnoxiously following up with, “Vic and I were just talking about  _ how much _ he enjoyed the ride and how he would  _ love _ to do it again someday!” Just that sentence was enough to snap the aforementioned victim out of his stupor, which had been Hop’s intention from the beginning.

Victor let out an awkward laugh that definitely held a twinge of panic to it. “Maybe you should let me recover first, though! I’m still a bit shook.” A simple outlooker would say his voice was calm and polite, but it definitely had a hidden layer of ‘had it not been for the laws of this land I would have slaughtered you‘ directed towards Hop that only he could’ve possibly picked up on.

Before this madness could continue and eventually spin into an intricate web of terrible lies and fake enthusiasm towards charizard rides, they heard the footsteps of two new people approaching. Turning their heads towards the sound, they noticed Camellia making her way towards them with Mary on tow. Victor could’ve cried out in relief at that very moment, because he was  _ this _ close to just giving up on life. It was hard to miss the way both Camellia and Leon’s matching eyes lit up in glee as they rushed to greet each other with a hug. The rest of them watched the display of affection in peaceful silence.

Maybe they could forget their troubles for now.

Camellia and Leon began to ask each other rapid-fire questions, neither of them answering the other before they started asking more questions in return. Once they realized what was happening, the two of them burst out laughing. It felt less like a reunion between a mother and son who’d only been apart for two months and more like an unexpected meeting between two friends who hadn’t seen each other in decades. It was a familiar sight to Hop considering this seemed to happen during every single family reunion they had. Hop and Raihan would sometimes bet on who would be the first one to crack whenever the family was invited to hang out in Postwick. 

Results varied.

“Ah,” Leon exclaimed politely, finally acknowledging Mary’s presence once he regained his composure. “You must be Mary Ludwig! It’s very nice to meet you.” With that said, he extended a hand as courtesy, which Mary gladly shook in response. She seemed completely unfazed by the massive fire-breathing dragon beside Leon. Victor admired his mother’s bravery, wishing he’d inherited it.

“Feeling’s mutual! Leon Harley, right?” Mary answered cheerfully, withdrawing her arm and putting both hands behind her back as she gave him her signature smile. “Dear Hop here told me a great deal about you. Even turned my son into your fan as well!” she praised, and suddenly all attention turned to Hop, who opted to sit beside his friend on the ground. He’d enthusiastically been telling a barely-listening Victor something at breakneck pace, and only stopped when he noticed the silence on the adults’ end, as well as the three pairs of eyes that were suddenly on him.

He stared right back at them. “Huh?”

“They were talking about how you convinced me to join the Leon cult,” Victor helpfully informed him, apparently more interested in focusing on the conversation the grown-ups were having than whatever Hop had decided to babble to him this time. “Get with the program, Hop.” This earned a few chuckles from Leon and Camellia. Mary didn’t seem as amused, however, considering she didn’t expect Victor to act so casual in front of polite company—she told him to behave the day before all of this, after all—but decided not to do anything about it for now, since this was supposed to be a lighthearted reunion and all.

Hop’s lips curled into a grin. He would gladly take all of the credit when it came to Victor’s conversion to a fan of his father’s and a battle enthusiast in general. After all,  _ someone _ had to pester the poor boy into submission. He rhetorically asked, “Did you ever doubt me?” But Victor probably didn’t get the ‘rhetorical’ part.

“Yes,” he deadpanned, “I doubt you constantly. All the time. Every single day. My life now revolves around asking myself ‘should I trust Hop on this one?’ and the answer is always no.”

“And yet you still do.”

“My biggest regret in life.”

As the two boys began to bicker like they always ended up doing, Camellia turned to Leon after sharing a knowing look with Victor’s mother. “Mary and I are going to finish making lunch. Can you and the boys put up the table?” It sounded like a normal question with no hidden reasons behind it, but Camellia knew what she was doing. She wanted to give her grandson some more time to catch up with his father, as well as give Victor the chance to know him a bit better. After lunch the two children would definitely want to run around like the little balls of unending energy that they were, and the adults would have time to catch up. So, for now, she would give them that.

Leon was very grateful for that, already aware of what his mother was implying. “Of course, mum. I have something I need to show them anyways.”

“Alright, dandelion. Just try not to destroy everything, alright?” Camellia hugged him one more time and pet Typhon’s head (which was greatly appreciated on his part) before spinning on her heels and hastily making her way back to the house in hopes of reaching the kitchen before they burned the meat to a crisp, Mary following along. Leon watched them go for a brief moment before turning to Typhon with a nod. Upon receiving the signal, the charizard moved to lie on the grass next to the house’s main entrance, clearly hoping to get some rest after flying all the way from Wedgehurst to Postwick while carrying a child on his back.

Leon watched Typhon curl around his own body and close his eyes for a kip. He barely had any time to acknowledge a black blur running past him until his charizard was being hounded by a very inquisitive wooloo that seemed to have taken an interest in what he was doing, bleating a question at him that was unintelligible to Leon. With a grunt and a nod of approval from Typhon, Mimzy curled up beside him, basking in the warmth his body radiated. Unlike the dragon, she did not close her eyes to sleep, but seemed to appreciate the peace nonetheless, seemingly worn out after tirelessly chasing blipbugs and other pokémon that lurked around the house. It was quite the adorable sight.

After a few seconds of making sure everything was okay with those two, Leon proceeded to head towards where the two boys were sitting. He couldn’t understand exactly what they were arguing about but it seemed like they weren’t really mad at each other and it was mostly for show. Leon regarded the scene with nostalgic endearment. Hop and Victor acted exactly like him and Raihan when they were teenagers and were just starting their Gym Challenge. He missed those days sometimes...

_ Maybe I really am old. _

Leon cleared his throat, snapping Hop and Victor out of their argument as their eyes turned to him. “Well, if I recall correctly I did promise to bring you two presents, didn’t I?” His smile became more genuine once he saw the way their eyes widened at the reminder. They had completely forgotten about that, apparently. Leon couldn’t blame them, though; a lot had happened in the span of a few hours, so of course the presents wouldn’t be the first thing on their minds.

Hop and Victor briskly stood up once realization hit them, almost tripping over their own feet in the process, and rushed towards Leon, their eyes filled with pure curiosity. Once the two of them were in place beside each other, waiting anxiously for what he had to say, Leon started his speech. “You must be wondering what I—”

“You brought Victor and me pokémon, didn’t you?” Hop eagerly interrupted him, immediately jumping to guesses. As loud as Leon normally was, his son’s impatience always spoke louder. Usually he would just laugh this off considering Hop always did this when it came to the presents he brought home, and most of his guesses were incorrect and poorly thought out as a result of him rushing things before putting some thought into them. This time, however, Leon had actually been caught off guard, because Hop was right.

“How did you figure that out?” he inquired, suddenly interested in the possible answer he might receive.

“You only bring Typhon’s pokéball when you come to visit nanna, but I can see four pokéballs on your belt,” Hop explained casually as he eyed Leon’s belt, which was custom-made and created specifically with the purpose of carrying pokéballs in mind—it was also more fashionable than anything else his father wore. In normal circumstances Hop would never pay attention to the belt in particular considering there was no reason for him to ever do so, but his eyes happened to land on it when he almost tripped while standing up, and the three extra pokéballs attached to it made him do a double take. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together after that.

Leon nodded, acknowledging the answer. He didn’t expect anyone to notice the pokéballs on his belt, but perhaps he had underestimated how perceptive children were. “Smart cookie, aren’t you?” he teased lightly, although it wasn’t hard to notice how proud he was that his son figured this out with relative ease.

“Where are the rest of your brain cells when we actually  _ need _ them?” Victor jokingly lamented out loud, receiving a playful shove from Hop in response.

“Right then!” Leon spoke up, drawing the attention back to him. He could feel the energy coming from the three pokéballs he’d brought along and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to contain those three in there for long. Just like Hop and Victor, they were excitable little things that appeared to never be able to run out of energy. It was a perfect fit. “The greatest gift from the greatest Champion…” Leon snatched the three pokéballs from his belt, taking a mental note of how warm they were; he could almost feel the electricity running through his fingers. He just barely had time to throw them in the air before they burst open halfway through. Just in time.

“It’s showtime, everyone!”

For the two boys, everything happened so fast that they found themselves almost unable to catch up with the scene unfolding before their eyes. 

Hop was barely able to register the familiar sound and flash of the pokéballs opening on their own before finding himself facing three tiny creatures that started scampering in different directions as soon as their feet touched the ground. He could see out of the corner of his eyes that one of them, which he recognized as a tiny monkey, eagerly chose to climb the tree standing tall in their front yard, doing so almost effortlessly. Another one, a lizard of some kind, opted to fling itself into their small pond instead, immediately disappearing as soon as its body hit the water. The last pokémon of the trio, a small yet clearly excitable bunny, simply started enthusiastically running into circles, leaving burning pawprints in its wake. Hop couldn’t help but see himself and Victor in these pokémon, what with their boundless amounts of energy and knack for mischief.

Emphasis on the ‘mischief’ part.

The lizard pokémon that had disappeared into their pond resurfaced after a brief moment, allowing itself to become visible again—which meant it could disappear when in contact with water, Hop concluded—and letting out a jet of water out of its mouth, which accidentally landed on the unsuspecting bunny that had been running laps on their battle mat just a few seconds ago. It let out a shrill cry of shock before jumping about in a panic, trying to dry its fur in the wind as quickly as possible. In the rush to do so, however, the poor thing bounced a bit too high and hit its head on a branch of the tree where the monkey pokémon that’d been the first to flee was sitting while hitting a berry with a stick... for some reason. Hop winced at the sight. That was going to leave a bruise.

The berry slid off the branch, falling right into the pond and startling the pokémon that was in there. It instantly jumped off, soaked and scared, and then proceeded to burst into tears. The pokémon on top of the tree jumped off, landing on the floor completely unharmed in an impressive feat of endurance, and tried to comfort the crying lizard. The last one of the trio, the bunny, saw what was happening and rushed to join them, already recovered from crashing its head into a tree at full speed. Mimzy’s antics notwithstanding, Hop had never related to a pokémon so much in his entire life.

“All right!” Leon called once they all calmed down. It was better to allow them to let out their contained energy before anything else. “Line up, everyone!” The three of them eagerly did as told, getting into their positions while eyeing Hop and Victor expectantly. Leon turned to the two starry-eyed children who were staring at the trio as if that was the first time they’d ever seen a pokémon. It was adorable and Leon wished they could stay like this a bit longer, but they needed to get things moving. 

“Victor, Hop,” he called, successfully getting the children’s attention for a brief moment. He decided to make good use of it while it lasted. “Let me introduce you to your new friends.” He turned to the pokémon, motioning to them as he spoke. “This is the grass-type pokémon, Grookey.” He gestured to the small monkey that cried out chipperly once it heard its name being spoken. “The fire-type pokémon, Scorbunny.” The bunny’s ears perked up and it began to jump up and down in response. “And last but not least, the water-type pokémon, Sobble!” Despite not giving a physical demonstration of enthusiasm like the other two, the still-soaked lizard appeared to be just as excited as the others.

Leon turned to his son and his friend, asking a question that he knew they’d struggle with.  _ “Which will you choose?” _

“Wait!” Victor exclaimed as he turned to the champion, incredulous. The shock and wonder were slowly wearing off and those four simple words helped bring him back to reality. “You’re saying we get to  _ keep them?” _

Leon laughed like this was the funniest joke he’d heard in weeks. “Yes. They’re your presents, after all.”

“Holy f—” Victor murmured but cut himself right there, realizing it was probably unwise to complete the sentence in the presence of a parent. His gaze shifted to the three waiting pokémon lined up before him. They were as starstruck as Hop and Victor. That was probably to be expected. The five of them appeared to share the same amount of experience when it came to the situation, and that amount was zero. And, considering what just happened within ten seconds of them being allowed out of their pokéballs, the three pokémon appeared to share only one brain cell between them.

The resemblance was uncanny.

Hop decided to snap Victor out of his stupor himself because this would take forever otherwise. “Go on—you pick first,” he encouraged his friend in a surprising act of selflessness and patience. Even Leon had been taken aback, as he’d fully expected his son to be the first one to make up his mind when it came to choosing one of them. When Victor gave him a puzzled look in response, he explained, “I’ve already got Mimzy, so I’ll let you have this one, mate.” Just when it seemed that he matured a little bit that day, Hop almost immediately followed up with, “But if you take too long I’m picking all of them and leaving you with nothing.” It was tongue-in-cheek, obviously.

“Don’t be selfish, Hoppy,” Victor whined mockingly before proceeding to ignore his friend’s entire existence, turning to the trio of pokémon waiting for him instead.

If he was being honest he could barely decide between them, and his mind was still racing at the realization that whoever he chose was going to be  _ his first pokémon. _ Just the thought was enough to pump adrenaline through his veins. Victor was so excited that he couldn’t even make a proper decision. Besides, they all looked so cute and strong at the same time. He was really considering following Hop’s threat and taking all of them to himself before fleeing the region, never to be seen again… but that would be ridiculous, and by ridiculous he meant expensive—that was the only thing stopping him, really.

After giving it some thought, Victor felt that maybe, just maybe, he clicked with Grookey the most. The little bugger had won his heart.

He decisively stepped forward before kneeling in front of the small monkey so that they were facing each other. “Grookey,” Victor called, and he did not miss how its eyes lit up in amazement upon hearing its name. “Do you wanna be my partner?” He didn’t even have to ask because before he could do anything else Victor found himself being tackled by the grookey, almost throwing him off balance. He giggled once he felt it nuzzling his neck affectionately. “Thanks, bud.”

“A great choice!” Leon praised him from where he stood. No matter how many times he saw it, both online and in person, the sight of a new trainer picking their first pokémon and everlasting partner would never get old. It was an even more amazing experience in person, actually. The hundreds of videos online didn’t do this moment justice. “Grookey’s a hardworking and fierce pokémon. I’m sure she’s thrilled you picked her.”

“I think she picked me too,” Victor wondered out loud before turning to his pokémon.  _ My pokémon, _ he thought, beaming with pride at the realization that he really could utter those words now, because he had a pokémon that was his and only his. He could cry tears of happiness right now, but that would probably ruin the mood so he just held it in. He could secretly cry on his pillow later.

“Maybe I should give you a name, huh?” Victor paused for a second, considering. What would be a good name for a grookey? He didn’t know much about nicknaming in general, nor was he particularly creative under pressure, but he wanted it to be something both him and his pokémon liked. Since grookey was a grass-type, his mind immediately went to flowers—more specifically, a certain flower that happened to be his favourite. “How about Hibiscus? I think it suits you!” The cheerful cry he received in response was all he needed to hear. It was set, then. “It’s nice to meet you, Hibiscus.”

Hop smiled warmly at the sight. He knew exactly how Victor was feeling right now since he’d gone through the exact same thing with Mimzy, although their fateful encounter involved a lot more stealth and stealing than what was currently going on with his friend and Hibiscus. Maybe he should tell Victor this story later. He would definitely get a kick out of it.

“Guess it’s my turn, then,” Hop announced to no one in particular before making his way to where the other two pokémon were standing. Unlike Victor, Hop was a little more confident in his choice, which meant the process wouldn’t take as long. He turned to the scorbunny that was barely able to stay still where it stood, bursting with renewed energy at the sight of its companion getting picked. “Hey, Scorbunny,” he called, barely able to stifle a snort at how the bunny began to jump in place out of sheer excitement once it realized it had been chosen. “Want to join me and Mimzy? I bet we’ll have a lot of fun together!”

Just like Hibiscus, the scorbunny failed to be able to contain its exhilaration before pouncing on its trainer with enthusiasm, letting out a loud cry of happiness that was inadvertently followed by an explosion of flames coming out of its mouth. Said explosion of flames  _ nearly burned Hop’s eyebrows off. _

Whoops.

“That was a close one…” Hop sighed with relief once it was over and he realized that the fire had missed him by very little, although that had been too close of a call for his comfort. The scorbunny seemed very apologetic about the situation though, avoiding his gaze by hiding behind its ears in shame much like a young child would do after breaking an expensive vase with a soccer ball, except that instead of breaking something replaceable like a vase it nearly broke a human being, which was a little less replaceable.

Hop decided to laugh the incident off. Maybe he should start getting used to accidental fires. That wasn’t a hard task, though, considering he’d been living with a walking fire hazard since birth… and also said fire hazard’s ace, Typhon, who was surprisingly less of a danger to anything flammable than his trainer would ever manage to be. “You’re a fiery one, aren’t you? Spitting fire everywhere and all.” Hop’s eyes suddenly lit up as an idea popped into his head following that sentence. The bunny pokémon he was holding looked up at its trainer and tilted its head, wondering what he was thinking about. The flame in Hop’s eyes burned as bright as the fire that almost burned his face off.

“That’s your name:  _ Spitfire!” _

It was perfect.

Spitfire thought so too apparently, as it jumped off his arms and started bouncing around him, nearly setting the battle mat ablaze in the process. Hop couldn’t help but think that he was basically looking at himself in pokémon form. They were, personality-wise, incredibly alike. The scorbunny only stopped skipping around when the sound of approaching footsteps could be heard. The two of them—and only them, considering Victor was too busy doting on Hibiscus to acknowledge anything else happening around him like the idiot he was known for being—noticed Leon walking up to them with his arms crossed and a wide yet genuine smile on his lips.

“I was sure you’d go for the scorbunny, Hop. She’s as energetic as you are!” Leon stated lightheartedly, his eyes flickering between the two of them. If this were any other day, Hop might’ve found himself feeling thoroughly offended at his father’s implication that he was predictable, but he honestly couldn’t bring himself to feel that way right now. He was too excited at the idea of having a new pokémon on his team to care about the remark. Besides, he could admit that he was just a little predictable sometimes. Just a tiny bit. Either that or Leon knew him more than he thought. Maybe it was a mix of both. Who knew? 

Surely not him.

Hop had been so focused on Spitfire and his father that he didn’t even realize there was still one pokémon remaining, the lone sobble looking around in confusion and sadness at the thought of being forgotten. Leon noticed this, thankfully, and just like the two children had done before him, he kneeled down and gently offered a hand to the tiny lizard, his movements careful as not to startle it. “Hi, little guy,” he started, his voice soft and soothing. “Come with me. My husband and I will take good care of you.” The sobble gave him a timid smile and cheeped in agreement before hopping on the champion’s open hand. Leon effortlessly lifted him up and patted his head tenderly. “Welcome to the family, Morpheus.”

“Aww, that’s so adorable!”

They all turned their heads to the source of the comment, having been too busy bonding with their new pokémon to notice that Mary was watching them, carelessly leaning her body against the stone fence with one hand on her hip. How long had she been standing there? 

“Oh, don’t mind me!” Mary waved a hand dismissively once she noticed all eyes were on her. “I’m just here admiring the view as I stand here and wonder why the table hasn’t been set up yet.” That sentence was the embodiment of the saying ‘killing with kindness’ except that the kindness was coated with just a tad of passive-aggressiveness. Victor was concerned that his mother might skip the whole ‘with kindness’ part if they don’t hurry up. Their compliance would be a wise choice.

“Right, right,” Leon nodded sheepishly, suddenly remembering that he had indeed been asked to do that by his mother. They may have gotten a little too caught up in the moment. He then turned to Hop and Victor while allowing Morpheus to move from his hand to his shoulder instead. “Well, I guess we’d better get to it, boys, lest we get another earful!”

Hop tittered at the comment, nudging Victor with an elbow and motioning with his head to the shed near their house, silently asking him to follow along. Victor gave him a curt nod, understanding that this was probably where the tablecloths were. They’d never had a barbecue at Camellia’s house before—or had a barbecue at all, for that matter—so he didn’t know where things were and was going in with the assumption that Hop did. Since the grill was outside, that meant they would also need some coal for the fire. The two headed towards the shed with Spitfire and Hibiscus in tow while Leon made his way to the house in order to fetch the silverware, the sobble perched firmly on his shoulder. Hop really wanted to whip his Rotom-phone out and take a picture of them to send to his dad, because that was honestly the best thing he’d seen all day. Setting the table came first, though.

“Hop...” Victor decided this was as good a time as any to make some small talk. He was still unconvinced that this wasn’t a hyper-realistic dream and that he’d wake up anytime soon. “I have a pokémon, dude,” he breathed, the words barely registering in his head. He’d wanted to say this for so long. “I’m actually a pokémon trainer now.”

“Pretty cool, isn’t it?” Hop responded with a grin as he pushed the shed’s door aside and walked inside, coughing a little thanks to all of the dust. When was the last time someone cleaned this place, or even stepped inside it?

“Yeah!” Victor eagerly agreed, seemingly unbothered by the filth particles floating around him. He was probably too busy trying to process the situation to acknowledge his surroundings. Hop did notice how his gaze went to his grookey every few seconds, as if to check if she would actually disappear when he looked away. “I’m so excited I can barely breathe.”

“It’s probably the dust,” Hop concluded, walking up to an old display cabinet (which looked like it’d seen better days) to his right and inspecting it with narrowed eyes, hoping that this would help him see better in the dark. He’d never actually been inside the shed before, so he didn’t really know where things had been stored. Guess it would be trial and error, then. He turned to Victor, knowing his friend would practically be dead weight considering he was too busy having an aneurysm to lend him a helping hand, and decided to make some small talk to make things less tedious. “You know, I used to think this place was haunted.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “Really? Why?”

“Look at it, Vic.” Hop motioned vaguely towards a random direction with a free hand while using the other to open the cupboard. “This shed looks like a place where people go to get murdered in the middle of the night. It also used to be locked whenever I came to visit. Nanna would never tell me what was in here, always saying that I shouldn’t worry about it. I wanted answers.” He shrugged lazily as his eyes landed on a piece of white cloth adorned with fancy-looking blue and gold patterns. Bingo. “So I just made up a story in my own head that this place was haunted and that’s why it was off-limits. Needless to say, I was really disappointed when I found out the truth.”

“But how do you know it  _ isn’t _ haunted?” Victor questioned, and that made Hop do a double-take, because he had never actually proven that it wasn’t. He just saw the boring display cabinets and bags of coal and assumed that he’d been wrong.

“Huh... you actually have a point.”

While Hop placed the tablecloth on his left shoulder and closed the cabinet’s door with care (since it looked like it’d turn to dust if put under the slightest bit of pressure), Victor felt a presence approaching. He froze at first, wondering if this whole talk about ghosts had accidentally summoned one—which, while terrifying, wouldn’t be that surprising, since they would probably be able to pull something ridiculous like this off—but visibly relaxed once he looked over his shoulder and realized that it was only Leon and thus they weren’t going to be chased by a demon. Not now, at least. Maybe they could actually pull this off someday.

“Have you found the tablecloth?” Leon asked, placing a hand in front of his nose once he noticed the unholy amounts of dust that had gathered inside the shed.

“Yeah, I got it,” Hop unenthusiastically responded, motioning to the folded cloth on his shoulder. Then his gaze shifted to his friend. “Vic, you’re bringing the coal.”

“Why do  _ I _ have to do it?” Victor whined indignantly, giving the bags of coal the side-eye like they’d personally slighted him. They did not look light at all, and were also covered in dust. When was the last time someone had even touched them? If nobody had been inside the shed for a while, then that meant the bags must’ve been rotting in there for Arceus knows how long. Were they expired?  _ Could _ coal even expire?

Hop would’ve scoffed, but he didn’t want to inhale more dust than he already had. “Because you’ve just been standing there instead of helping me, so that’s your punishment. Enjoy!” With that said, he stepped out the shed and towards the table with the cloth in hand, Spitfire joining him with no hesitation. Thankfully for Victor, Hibiscus did not follow them, opting to stay by his side instead. He turned to her, wondering why she wouldn’t leave considering she wasn’t obligated to stay, and Hibiscus let out a soft hum that was probably meant to convey how she’d stay by her side throughout the entirety of this journey—which, in hindsight, may have been quite dramatic on their parts since they were only getting a bag of coal instead of going to war. Still, her loyalty was greatly appreciated. Victor might actually cry this time.

“Hibiscus,” he muttered while lowering himself to her level by getting on one knee, petting her head affectionately. He hoped she could hear his murmuring, because the following instructions he was about to give were crucial. “Next time you see Hop, hit him in the kneecaps with your stick as hard as you can.” Hibiscus let out a cry of what Victor could only assume was agreement. Good enough.

_ “Atta girl.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was gonna post this yesterday but I got logged out of Google Docs lmao.
> 
> I can't believe this chapter is 7000 words long. I started this fic with the intent of posting smaller chapters but now I'm feeling like I'm physically unable to write a short story. This is hilarious, honestly. Would I have ever come up with this epiphany otherwise? Probably not. Anyway, onto the notes!
> 
> — Don't worry, Lee, you're not old. Children can be cruel sometimes.
> 
> — You guys can start to notice a bit of a difference between Canon Hop and HLTC Hop. Canon Hop is more like 'wow, Lee, you're the coolest guy in the whole region' and HLTC Hop leans more towards 'dad, I love you but that's cringe.' It do be like that sometimes.
> 
> — Typhon is a very affectionate fellow and I just want him to be happy. He looks intimidating, but outside of pokémon battles he won't harm a fly.
> 
> — Raihan's last name is Wyver. It's a reference to wyverns, my favorite kind of dragon (they're just so majestic). And, you know, Raihan's the Dragon-type Gym Leader and all.
> 
> — That shed is totally haunted.
> 
> At last, another chapter is done! I can't believe that three chapters in we're still in Postwick lol. This is gonna be a long story, guys. I do value characterization above anything else so I don't really care a lot if this fic gets a bit longer. I'm having fun writing it. Anyway, thanks for reading!


	4. Over-cap-italized

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hop despaired, throwing his hands in the air. "I’m sorry we can’t all have boring, ordinary names, _Victor."_

It took them ten minutes to get everything ready, with seven of those minutes being wasted dragging a goddamn bag of coal out of a dusty shed.

By the end of his ‘journey’ (as he liked to call it), Victor thought that he was going to die of exhaustion. The bag was heavy—extremely so. He would often exaggerate about things like these, since he wasn’t fit at all and thus everything that required physical effort became a challenge, but he wasn’t joking when it came to this. It felt less like he was carrying coal and more like he was trying to drag his mother’s munchlax to the backyard for his weekly bath—a chore that was and would continue to be the bane of his entire week. By the time Victor was done, having successfully brought the bag of coal out for the barbecue without having an aneurysm along the way, he noticed that Camellia and Mary were already outside, bringing the raw meat that they were going to grill. When Camellia saw him dragging that big-ass bag of coal whilst looking like he was going to burst a vein in his head, she raised an eyebrow and asked why he didn’t simply pick a few lumps with his hands since that was all they really needed.

Upon hearing that, Victor just wanted to go to his room and perish.

After being given the motherly approval to lie down and rethink his entire existence, Victor found a particularly comfy spot in the yard and just sat there, leaning against the stone fence and staring at the sky while petting Hibiscus. After a while he was joined by Hop—the bastard that did this to him—who didn’t even ask if he could sit next to him before doing so. After two months of hanging out together and eventually becoming best friends the two of them started to forget about formalities when in each other’s presence. They hadn’t even realized they were doing it at first, but it was natural now. It felt _right._

“Wait a minute!” Victor suddenly piped up, his gaze shifting from Hibiscus to Spitfire as he slowly started piecing things together. “Did you let me pick my pokémon first so you could get the type advantage?”

Hop did not meet his eyes, suddenly deciding that the sight of his grandmother cooking had become much more interesting. “Why, I have no idea what you could possibly be referring to,” he jested semi-pretentiously, unable to contain a smirk. If Hop was being honest, that had been an accident. He wasn’t planning on getting whatever pokémon was stronger against Victor’s choice, because he didn’t think it mattered at all. His bond with his partner was more important than some petty rivalry that wouldn’t even matter that much in the long run. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction at the realization that this had all worked out in his favour. Once he didn’t receive a response like he had expected, Hop turned to Victor, raising an eyebrow. “Why? Having second thoughts?”

Perhaps Victor shouldn’t have felt so offended by this question, but he couldn’t help it. “What? No! I don’t care about stupid stuff like type advantages or whatever. Hibiscus is perfect the way she is and I love her very much.” And, as if to prove that he was being one-hundred percent serious, Victor reached to pet her behind her ear, a gesture that was much appreciated by Hibiscus as she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch.

“That’s the spirit,” Hop praised with a satisfied smile, his hand instinctively moving to pat Spitfire on the head at the sight. He may only have known the energetic scorbunny for less than half an hour, but in that short amount of time he felt that he was able to get a feel for her personality, and that meant that he could guess that she’d probably feel jealous that she wasn’t receiving scratches behind her ear like her friend. Hop was more than willing to oblige.

Then he heard a faint bleat in the distance, coming from his right.

The four of them turned to the source of the sound, and they noticed a black ball of fluff approaching them at an incredibly fast pace. Hop’s eyes lit up for a brief moment at the realization that Mimzy had returned from wherever she went off to for the past twenty minutes or so, and that meant that he could introduce her to their new friend and family member, Spitfire, and hopefully they’d become friends. Hop knew that Mimzy had been itching to make a new friend that wasn’t his fathers’ pokémon—because they were older and more powerful than she was and thus they took a more parental role towards her, and only having your ‘parents’ as your friends is kind of depressing—and this was the perfect opportunity for her to meet someone new and that was on the same level as her.

Hop’s happiness was relatively short-lived once he realized that not only was Mimzy curled into a ball—which she always did when she wanted to go faster than her tiny legs allowed her to—she was also heading towards him at an abnormally high speed and showed no signs of stopping, or even _being able_ to stop in the first place. That was bad. In hopes that maybe she could hear him, he resorted to crying out, “Mimzy, girl, slow down! You’re gonna cr—”

Hop never got to finish that sentence because, as he predicted, Mimzy crashed straight into him.

It felt like being hit by a pillow filled with pebbles. It was soft at first thanks to all of her wool, and then it became slightly painful due to her weight, and the damage was doubled thanks to all the momentum she gained. It was a matter of seconds before Hop found himself lying on the floor with Mimzy on top of him. He heard Victor burst out laughing beside him, with Hibiscus and Spitfire joining along shortly after.

Goddammit.

However, any feelings of frustration or embarrassment that Hop may have felt at that moment were immediately washed away when he felt Mimzy lick his cheek affectionately before giving him the biggest doe eyes he’d ever seen, as if she was apologizing for the trouble she caused. He chuckled, sitting up and petting her horns as she closed her eyes, content with the attention. Thankfully for Hop the pain wasn’t so bad this time around. After all, nothing beats falling down the stairs and crashing into a wall of concrete, not even being tackled by fifteen pounds of cotton.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Hop repeated as he booped her nose. That was starting to feel like their catchphrase at this point. Mimzy let out a cry that her trainer couldn’t really decipher the meaning of, but it was probably in agreement to his previous statement. _Probably._

It only took the wooloo a few seconds to realize that, besides Typhon—who was still fast asleep despite all the commotion—she wasn’t the only pokémon in the yard anymore. There were two new faces standing in between her trainer and his friend, both of them giving her cautious yet curious glances. Mimzy tilted her head at the sight, and Hop swore that he could see a question mark floating above her head. Well, now that they had all spotted each other, it was time for introductions. He rose to his feet and picked Mimzy up, slowly and carefully placing her in front of Hibiscus and Spitfire whilst silently praying that this wouldn’t end in disaster. He was only now realizing that he’d have a lot of trouble on his hands if his two pokémon didn’t get along, especially considering that one of them could, as her name suggested, spit _fire,_ and the other had a coat that was very, very flammable.

“Mimzy,” Hop spoke up, successfully redirecting all of the attention towards him, “I’d like you to meet your new friends, Hibiscus and Spitfire.” He then turned to the aforementioned pokémon as he motioned towards the wooloo. “Hibiscus, Spitfire, this is Mimzy.”

He and Victor held their breaths for what felt like an eternity as they watched the events unfold before them. Mimzy, ever the overfriendly yet socially inept sweetheart that she was, was the first one to react, taking a step forward and letting out a soft bleat that almost sounded like a question. Spitfire and Hibiscus appeared apprehensive at first, probably not very used to being around new pokémon, but they bravely approached the wooloo and allowed her to sniff them. There was a second of silence between them before it was broken by Mimzy’s cry of approval and delight as she started prancing around the yard, her two new friends following her closely as they started chasing each other playfully.

Hop let out a sigh of relief as he slumped against the fence, leaning against Victor in pretend exhaustion. “That was close.”

“Was it really?” Victor questioned as he followed the pokémon with his gaze. The sight allowed him to relax a little, even though he had no reason to be tense in the first place. “Your wooloo’s too friendly to make enemies with. Like, she’s kinda dumb but in a really adorable way. Kinda like how babies are dumb and needy and loud but we still manage to find them cute. I literally cannot imagine someone hating her.” Hop leaned further against his shoulder but he did not respond. The silence concerned Victor a little since his friend loved talking about Mimzy, especially when it came to how dopey yet loveable she was. “Hop?”

That finally snapped him out of it. He looked up, only now realizing that Victor had been talking and he wasn’t paying attention. “Hm? Oh, sorry, I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing important.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it.” For a moment Victor thought about poking his cheek again—Arceus, why did Hop have such a baby face?—but decided against it. It would probably make things worse and that was the opposite of what he was trying to accomplish at the moment. “Come on, man, you can tell me what’s wrong.” Victor didn’t receive an answer, and he didn’t know if that was because Hop was trying to come up with a convincing lie on the spot or if he legitimately didn’t know what to say. “Was it because I called Mimzy dumb? Are you upset about that?”

He was very relieved to hear a chuckle coming from Hop. “Nah. She is indeed a dumb baby, but she’s _my_ dumb baby and I love her with all my heart and soul.”

“Aww,” Victor cooed in response, “that’s exactly how I feel about you.”

Hop gave him an amused, almost honored, sideway glance that was promptly followed by an impish smile. He didn’t even bother moving from his spot against Victor’s shoulder. It was surprisingly cozy. “Are you saying you love me with all your heart and soul, mate?” he goaded while pressing himself further against his friend, as if trying to shove him to the side. Victor didn’t budge from where he sat, but he did crack a tiny, nearly imperceptible smile at the taunt, which Hop already considered a win in his book.

“I was mostly referencing the ‘dumb baby’ part, but if _that’s_ what you want to focus on then I won’t stop you.”

“You know you love me.”

“I mean,” Victor disputed as he leaned his head against the fence and glanced upwards at the sky, his gaze going over the clouds and their various shapes, “you barged into my life and demanded my undivided attention like the dumb, needy, loud baby you are. How could I _not_ love that?” Nobody, not even Victor himself, knew if that was supposed to be sarcastic or not. Despite that, however, he could feel that there was some truth to his words. He never actually had friends as a child, so he greatly appreciated Hop’s presence in his life, even if said presence was mildly chaotic at best and accidentally destructive at worst. It sure made the past two months enjoyable for him, especially considering he’d been uncertain about living in Galar at first.

Well, not anymore.

“I knew it! Nobody can resist the Harley-Wyver charms, not even the elusive Victor Ludwig,” Hop boasted, his grin widening. Victor snorted as he tried to move him away with an elbow. It didn’t work. Hop was stuck to him like glue. He resigned himself to letting his friend cling to him in a (probably) semi-ironic way. That wasn’t the first time he’d done it anyway, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last.

“Maybe I should stop giving you accidental love confessions since I’m clearly only feeding your ever-growing ego.”

“No, don’t do that to me,” Hop pestered in a whiny tone. “Feed me, Victor.”

“You know, that’s the worst thing you’ve said all day,” Victor concluded with a grimace once the words really settled in, “with _and_ without context.”

“Thanks. I try.”

The two stopped their squabble when they noticed Leon picking two plates from the table and walking over to them. They hadn’t even noticed that the food had already been cooked some time ago since they’d been too busy teasing each other to think about focusing on anything else, but the sight and smell of the grilled meat helped them realize just how hungry they were. Hop and Victor gladly took the plates that had been offered to them by Leon, whose gaze wandered to the three pokémon dashing around their yard for a single moment before shifting back to the two boys. Despite having already gotten their plates and begun digging into the food like they hadn’t eaten anything of nutritional value for weeks, they were still huddled together.

“Looks like you two are having fun,” Leon commented, amused, while crossing his arms.

“We are!” Hop promptly affirmed, not even bothering to swallow the food before speaking. It was a miracle he had yet to choke on the steak he was haphazardly chewing on. “Victor called me a dumb, needy, loud baby and confessed his undying love for me in one single sentence. It was the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me.”

That piqued Leon’s interest. “Oh?”

“Lies!” Victor’s exclaim was perhaps a bit louder than he intended, but he could not let this slander go unpunished, because how dare Hop take his words and twist them like this. The sheer _audacity._ Victor put his knife and fork down for a second in order to raise an index finger much like his mother whenever she was ready to thoroughly educate (or scold) him on an important matter. “The word you’re looking for is _projection,_ Hop,” he swiftly countered.

That did not deter Hop one bit. “Are you saying I’m projecting my love for you, Vic?”

“If the shoe fits.”

They would have continued arguing back and forth for a while, their food long-forgotten (because this was obviously more important), if not for the fact that Leon abruptly interjected with a statement filled with fondness. “Ah, young love,” he semi-murmured, all attention suddenly turned to him. “Raihan and I used to act exactly like you two, you know.” Hop suddenly realized what was going on here, and he wanted to put a stop to it as quickly as humanly possible. Leon was the type of person to always reminisce about the past, especially when it came to his love life, and Hop really didn’t want him to do that right now. There would be no reminiscing today. Nope.

“Pa, you need to chill.” He hoped the urgency in his voice tone wasn’t too noticeable. He didn’t want to give his father the impression that he was trying to dodge this conversation at all costs because that would only end up in more teasing. He knew it from experience. “We’re just being ironic.” That part was true. He and Victor would say things like that with a straight face and enough faux conviction to fool any unsuspecting passersby, sure, but they didn’t actually love each other _romantically._ That would be weird.

Leon remained unconvinced. “Raihan and I used to say that too.”

 _Fuck’s sake,_ Hop wanted to retort out of desperation, but he wisely chose to keep the comment to himself. Swearing in front of your parents—or worse, _at_ your parents—never ended well for anyone. Hop always considered Leon and Raihan chill fathers when it came to a lot of things (and he really _did_ mean a lot of things) but at the end of the day they were still parents who expected, and rightfully so, basic respect from their children. Besides, Hop had a feeling that defensively doubling down would probably make it seem like he was in deep denial about his supposed love for Victor, and he’d rather drown in a frozen lake a second time than let this argument stretch out longer than it needed to.

So, in the end, he simply let out a defeated, “Yeah, whatever you say.”

Victor had yet to say anything about all of this, purposefully avoiding the conversation by stuffing his face with as much food as possible—after all, one can’t speak with their mouth full. His expression was unreadable. Hop decided to follow his example by stabbing the steak with his fork with more force than necessary and biting a large chunk off of it; knives be damned. Thankfully Leon realized the conversation hit a dead end and chose to go back to the table where the other adults were sitting instead of trying to revive the topic, but not before waving them goodbye whilst sporting a wide, knowing smile. Hop couldn’t help but feel immensely glad that this was finally over. Another humiliating exchange with his father successfully avoided.

“So…” Victor awkwardly laughed as he put his plate down next to him. “That happened.”

Hop nodded, unsure of where they were going with this. “It sure did.”

“Yeah…” The two uncomfortably sat in silence for a moment before Victor followed up with, “I can’t wait to forget this conversation ever took place.” And damn if that wasn’t the most relatable thing he’d said all week.

“Same.” Hop decided that the best way to cleanse his memory was to go back to finishing his steak, which he did in less than a minute. Despite everything that just occurred, he was still leaning firmly against Victor’s shoulder, not caring that it was an impractical way to eat. After he ran out of food, Hop realized that he’d exhausted all current ways to distract himself. He could, theoretically speaking, go for seconds, but that would mean having to face Leon again and risking yet another ignominious conversation about his ironic love life, and he really didn’t have the inner strength to deal with that right now. So Hop turned to Victor instead, nudging him gently. “Hey, want me to show you something interesting?”

Despite his hesitance—which was very valid considering this particular sentence appeared to be the common denominator in all of their adventures that went awry—Victor failed to suppress his curiosity. Hop always had ways to spark his interest. Still, he remained a little bit skeptical. “Please don’t tell me this involves running. I _just_ finished eating.”

“Nah, not this time,” Hop assured, waving a hand dismissively before rising to his feet and offering a helping hand to Victor, who couldn’t help but notice that he’d done the same thing when they fell down the stairs.

With a resigned sigh, he took upon the offer and allowed Hop to help him stand up. Growing curiosity notwithstanding, the only reason Victor was (begrudgingly) tagging along despite having just eaten was because he knew that his friend would continue to annoy him until he caved in, and Victor would rather save himself the trouble of wasting time since the end result would always be the same no matter what he did. Hop started eagerly dragging him towards the house the second he got on his two feet. “Come on, Vic. I bet you’ll love this—”

“Hop,” Victor humorlessly interrupted, pointing at the floor where they’d placed their now empty plates and dirty silverware. “The dishes.”

He received a sheepish smile in response. “Oh, right.”

The two of them bent down to pick up their plates and proceeded to head towards Camellia’s house. They came to the smart conclusion that, instead of handing the plates back to the adults and wasting time by having to make small talk, they could just catch two rookidees with one pokéball by taking the dirty dishes to the kitchen instead, since they would have to eventually be taken there to be cleaned anyway. Besides, that’s where they were headed, according to Hop, which made the whole thing way more efficient. Victor hoped that whatever he was about to see was worth the trip because he hadn’t been planning on moving from his spot for the rest of the day. He just wanted to lie on the grass and play with Hibiscus in peace.

Speaking of which, it took them the whole trip to the house to realize they were being silently followed by Hibiscus, Mimzy and Spitfire, who had stopped chasing after one another to chase after their trainers instead. Victor snorted at the adorable sight before turning to Hop. “Do we bring them along?” The only reason he asked was because he still had no idea what they were going to do.

“Sure,” Hop agreed with a curt nod. “It’s not like they can tattle on us to our parents anyway.”

That sentence concerned Victor a little bit. “Tattle? What do you mean ‘tattle’? What are we gonna do?” He did not receive an answer, which was worse. “Hop!” The only thing he got as a response was an enigmatic smirk before he found himself being pulled inside the house, their pokémon following close behind. They made their way to the kitchen first, carefully placing their dirty dishes and silverware into the sink. As they did so, Victor was preparing himself mentally for what he might see, since there was never an instance where Hop thought of showing him something relaxing and harmless. Besides, his use of the word _tattle_ meant that they had to keep this a secret.

Oh boy...

After that was done, the two of them headed straight for the stairs, Victor once again finding himself being dragged by the wrist. Once the stairs were within view, he realized what was about to happen and yanked his hand out of Hop’s grasp. Thanks to all of his stamina, Hop would surely not bother slowing down for Victor, and the last thing he needed at this moment was to trip and fall down yet another set of stairs, especially since Hibiscus was watching and he would prefer not to embarrass himself within the first hour of meeting her. Victor put his hands on the railing to ground himself (just as a precaution), while Hop didn’t even bother, effortlessly marching up the stairs. Spitfire and Hibiscus, who were too short to even reach the railing, just started jumping on the steps without a care. Mimzy had a lot more trouble since her legs were so short, but she somehow managed out of sheer determination—or stubbornness, just like her trainer.

Once they reached the second floor, Victor allowed himself to look around a little bit. He’d been to that part of the house a few times, since Hop always insisted they go to his room to binge-watch his father’s battles whenever he came over, but they always arrived in such a rush that he never took the time to properly analyze the place—more specifically, he didn’t even acknowledge that there was a _second door_ adjacent to Hop’s room. Victor picked up the pace once he noticed that his friend was already moving and making his way toward that door in particular instead of his own room like he expected.

Victor and Hop stopped in front of the brown-colored door. The first thing he noticed was the absurd amount of stickers glued in the most random of places, a work that was certainly done either by a young child or an adult with a peculiar sense of humour. Or maybe someone who really liked stickers. Hey, he wasn’t there to judge. “Is that your dad’s room?” Victor guessed, eyeing the door more thoroughly. Besides the colorful stickers, there wasn’t really much that indicated this was Leon’s bedroom—there was no name tag or anything—but it must’ve been since there were only three rooms in the house, not counting the common rooms, and two of them were taken.

Thankfully Hop confirmed his suspicions right away. “It sure is.”

“Are we allowed to go in there?” Victor didn’t want to get in trouble for following Hop’s lead without even thinking. He’d somewhat gotten used to Camellia’s stern scolding, since he’d known her for about two months now, but that was to be expected of a grandmother. Leon Harley, on the other hand, was a whole new story. Not only was he the champion—which was a big deal—but he was also basically a stranger to Victor, and being caught invading his room would surely leave a bad impression.

“Don’t worry,” Hop assured him, “I have permission to enter, so I am officially extending that permission to you. It’s basic math.”

Victor raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s how math works.”

“We’re not having the math discourse again,” Hop responded, shutting this topic down almost instantly. Victor had to resist cracking a smile, because he remembered the ‘math discourse’, as they called it, vividly. That had been an interesting day. Hop then added, “Your Unovian tricks won’t work on me again, Vic.”

“Pity.” Victor decided it was time to stop stalling and turned to the sticker-covered door instead. Despite all of his self-preservation instincts telling him that this was probably a bad idea, his curiosity had already been piqued, and there was no going back now. He briefly looked over his shoulder to make eye contact with the three pokémon behind them, their gazes turned to their trainers with wide eyes and not really understanding what was going on. Victor wished he could share their ignorance. “Anyway, what’s so important about your dad’s room that we’re _mathematically_ breaking and entering to see?”

“Brace yourself,” Hop uttered dramatically while placing his hand on the knob and turning it as slowly as possible, almost as if he was trying to torture Victor with the anticipation. With an amused chuckle at the sight of Victor’s impatient expression, he decided that his long-suffering friend deserved a break and just opened the door without any more fanfare. He walked in first, and Victor hurriedly followed along. What was he about to see?

It was caps.

 _Lots_ of caps, to be more specific. Caps of all sizes and patterns and colors. The more Victor looked around, the more perplexed he became. There was not a single corner in Leon’s room that did not have a cap hanging from it. There were three caps in his bed, a few of them scattered around the floor, and even one hanging from the ceiling fan. Not only that, but there was an entire wall covered in hooks for clothing, not a single one of them going unused. Victor continued to stare, absolutely gobsmacked, because there were enough caps in that one room to single-handedly fund Galar’s economy. _What the absolute hell?_

“How many heads does your father have?” Victor finally asked once he managed to collect his thoughts. “Who would need this many caps?” Was Leon a collector? If he was then the unholy amount of headwear covering every inch of the room would make more sense.

“Him, apparently,” Hop casually answered as he looked around. Victor wanted to ask why he seemed so unfazed by all of this, but this was Hop’s father they were talking about. If he had this many caps in his childhood home, then he probably had way more in his current one. The thought was terrifying. How many caps did this man own? “He says he buys a new one for every special occasion in his life.”

“That’s _a lot_ of special occasions.” Victor’s eyes scoured the room once more, although he did not have enough willpower to try and calculate how many caps there were. Doing so would be futile anyway, since he would only be counting the ones that were visible, and he was sure that there were more hidden somewhere. As he analyzed the place more thoroughly, Victor’s eyes landed on a high shelf that was unreachable to them. It had three caps neatly organized on top. That caught his attention. “What’s with those ones?”

Victor did not fail to notice how Hop’s eyes lit up at the mention of the shelf. It was like he’d been waiting years to share this with someone. “Those three—” he eagerly emphasized, motioning to the shelf with his hand, “—are the holy trinity of caps.” Victor’s gaze shifted from Hop to the three caps, wondering when this would start making sense. What did it even mean? Seeing his confusion, Hop helpfully added, “For the occasions that mean to him the most.”

“Which are…?”

“That one’s for when he got Typhon.” Hop pointed to the orange cap to the left. It looked very simple and cheap, which was fair since Leon must’ve bought it before the Gym Challenge, back when he didn’t have money to spare, although it did look fitting, being orange with an emerald green bill. “That one’s for when he married my dad.” Following that statement, Hop pointed to the cap to the right. That one was much different from the first, colored in black and embroidered with intricate orange and blue patterns. It looked like it had been hand-made instead of store-bought. “And the one in the middle—” Hop concluded, pointing to a pink cap that had a face on it, looking more appropriate for a child than an adult, “—is for when I was born.”

Victor nodded. That made sense. He could see these three events being particularly important to Leon, as they were linked to the three people (and pokémon) he cared the most about. However, there was one thing that was bothering him. “What about when he became the champion?” Victor inquired, inspecting the room again to see if he had missed something. “Doesn’t he have an ultra-special cap for that?”

“He does, but he actually wears that one!” Hop cheerfully informed him, pointing to his own head as if he was also wearing a cap. “You know, the one with a crown at the bill.”

“Oh, yeah…” Victor kind of felt dumb for not considering the cap that Leon always wore as part of his champion outfit, as well as not realizing that the pattern that was stitched in gold at the bill was supposed to be a goddamn crown. It just looked like a random design at first and, considering Leon’s personality, he wouldn’t put it past him to use a cap with a random-ass design for shits and giggles, despite being the champion. Victor was hoping that his surprise wasn’t too evident. _This is so dumb,_ he concluded mentally. Everything about this was dumb.

Victor stirred as he felt something touch his leg, causing him to look down and smile as he found Hibiscus’s eyes locked on him. She chipped happily at her trainer before returning to where her friends were standing, the two of them analyzing a cap that was lying on the floor like it was the most mesmerizing thing they’d ever laid their eyes upon. It didn’t look interesting at all, being just a plain old hat with nothing special about it, but they seemed content in sniffing and pawing at it. Victor was glad that at least some of them were having fun in this hellish, never-ending nightmare that was Cap Land.

“Hop,” Victor intoned as he was hit with a sudden realization, “is your family a part of some sort of cap cult?”

Perhaps the worst part of all this was the fact that Hop actually _hesitated_ before answering, and his words did nothing to make Victor feel better about the situation. “As much as I'd love to say that this is ridiculous and unlikely—” Hop started, looking like he just aged ten years by remembering this information, “—this wouldn't be the first time a family member joined an incredibly obscure cult dedicated to worshipping a piece of cloth.” Victor himself felt like he aged thrice his current age after hearing this.

“I’m sorry, _what?”_

Hop shrugged. “Apparently great-grandpa Kermit had a few screws loose.” How could there be so much to unpack in one single sentence?

Still, Victor decided not to let this incredibly befuddling piece of trivia get to him. He wasn’t going to laugh about the fact that at least one of Hop’s family members managed to get himself into a cult—presumably unironically, because there are very few ways one might join an actual cult just for the hell of it—or the fact that his name was, out of all possible names in this whole universe, _Kermit._ No, Victor wasn’t going to laugh about this. Did he want to? Hell yes. But, out of respect, he wouldn’t. Respect for what, though, he wasn’t sure. Maybe for Kermit Harley’s ability to get himself into as much trouble as his great-grandson. 

“Ah,” Victor realized, “so _that’s_ where you get it from.”

Hop raised an eyebrow, although he couldn’t deny that this was true. “Are you implying I’ll join a cult?”

“Happens to the best of us,” Victor responded teasingly. Hop wanted to argue that he wasn’t so stupid at the point of sinking to his great-grandfather’s level, but at that point he wasn’t so sure that he wouldn’t accidentally find himself joining either a cult or the Kantonian mafia, because it totally sounded like something he’d do.

“Hereditary propensity to cult brainwashing aside,” Victor continued, acting as if that sentence in itself wasn’t something that had never been uttered by another human being before, “I'm actually kinda impressed. I've never seen this many caps gathered in one place before. It’s gotta be a world record.” He took one last look around the room, really taking everything in. As much as he hated the fact that this collection was so vast a scientist could easily consider Leon’s room a whole different planet with its own ecosystem, he also loved the intrigue and odd atmosphere of being surrounded by billions of caps. “Some of them are pretty interesting, especially that pink one.” Victor motioned to the middle cap on the shelf. “You said that was yours, right?”

Hop nodded. “On a technical level, yes.”

Victor could’ve left it at that, but he had a strange feeling of deja-vu about that hat, as if he’d seen something similar to it before. “You know, I have a feeling that I've seen this cap somewhere before, but I can't put my finger on it…”

Hop turned to look at the cap himself, wondering what Victor meant by that, and then it hit him that this had been a terrible idea all along. He totally forgot that his cap in particular wasn’t randomly chosen—none of the important ones were—and that there was an actual meaning behind it, a meaning that Hop had been hoping to take to his grave. And, if Victor put some more thought into it, he could figure it out. The idea of him knowing made Hop want to jump out the window, and he might just do that if they don’t get out of here as soon as humanly possible.

“You know, we should go back to the garden,” Hop suggested in a totally not suspicious and urgent way, searching for their pokémon so they don’t leave them there in the rush. Having to come back to get them would be a hassle. And a mistake. “Our parents might think we ran away or something,” he added, hoping this would make his sudden desire to leave a bit more excusable. The adults would be justified in thinking that, considering some of the more questionable things they’ve done before.

Unfortunately for him, Victor wasn’t easily convinced, eyes still locked on the object of his interest as he squinted, a hand going under his chin like a clueless tourist pretending to micro-analyze the finest of modern sculptures in a museum and acting as if he understood the meaning behind it when he, in fact, absolutely did not. “No way. If I don't figure this out it's gonna bother me all day,” Victor bemoaned.

Hop raised a questioning eyebrow. “How's that any different from when _I_ bother you all day? You put up with that just fine.”

Victor shrugged half-heartedly, not breaking eye contact with the cap for even one second. Despite his rising anxiety, Hop had to admire his dedication to figuring this out. “Tuning out my subconscious is impossible, but I have Pavloved myself to automatically ignore your daily bullshit like someone with tinnitus eventually learns to live with the persistent ringing in their ears after dealing with it for so long.”

Hop couldn’t even be mad, because that comment in itself was so artistic that it could easily be turned into a portrait worth hanging on a prestigious gallery in Lumiose City. “A poetic diss,” he remarked in a pompous tone, as if he were a billionaire judging fine wine, “how rare coming from you.”

Despite this sentence sounding more like an insult than Hop had intended for it to be, Victor still chuckled, finally shifting his attention from the cap to Hop, which was a goddamn relief to him. “Why, thank you,” he responded in an equally self-important voice to match his friend’s, “I found our discussion regarding your family's susceptibility to cults particularly enlightening,” he added for good measure, as if that fit naturally with the conversation they were having instead of being randomly shoehorned in.

Nevertheless, Hop still went along with it. “Enlightenment is what got great-grandpa Kermit into this mess in the first place.”

And then, just like that, Victor’s eyes lit up in sudden recognition, and Hop wouldn’t realize until later the beast that he unleashed upon the world—or, more accurately, the beast that he unleashed upon _himself._ “Hang on a second, that's it!” he exclaimed, an epiphany hitting him like a truck without brakes. ”You know how Kermit's the name of one of those weird-ass puppets from some show from the 60s or something?”

Hop squinted. That did sound familiar. “The Nuppets?” he guessed. He never watched that show himself, but his dad did. Raihan even had a cassette tape for it, and he protected it like a second child. Hop personally never got the appeal, but hey, different strokes for different folks.

Victor nodded eagerly. “Yeah, that! Anyway, when moving to Galar I kinda watched one episode of that show while on the plane because I was bored out of my mind and the only other option was a generic coming-of-age teenage romance—but that's not important! In one of the episodes—the one that I was watching—there's a special appearance of a pink puppet dubbed by an obscure celebrity that was recently jailed for committing tax fraud and being responsible for at least two deaths with one being currently under investigation.”

“That's weirdly specific, how the hell do you know that?”

“The True Crime podcasts I listen to in my free time are none of your business, Hop,” Victor responded, annoyed that he’d been interrupted. Hop had forgotten that Victor occasionally listened to podcasts whose subjects grew increasingly more concerning over time. “Anyway, that puppet was modeled after a specific pokémon and I had _no_ idea what it was called, but then I remembered his name in the show was Pippi, and then it hit me—hoppip! Your cap is a goddamn hoppip, Hop.”

Hop didn’t respond.

Victor paused, analyzing the last two words he uttered cautiously. His mind reeled as he started visibly putting two and two together despite Hop’s silent wish that he may have, in a metaphorical sense, forgotten how to count. “Wait a second—”

Alarm bells started ringing in Hop’s mind, and all his self-preservation instincts were telling him that his previous idea of jumping out the window wouldn’t be all that bad compared to what was currently unraveling before his eyes. And yet, despite the idea of self-defenestration sounding very appealing right now, Hop’s mind urged him to try and salvage the remnants of his dignity while he still had the chance by making a strategic retreat. “You know, I think my father’s calling me—”

Hop’s body was already moving towards the door as he spoke, but Victor caught onto what he was trying to do and gripped his wrist tightly, effectively decimating Hop’s hope for escape and sealing his fate. “Oh no, don’t you try to escape now,” Victor tutted, eyes narrowed. He used his grip on his friend’s wrist to pull him towards himself, his demeanor shifting into something much more serious, his hands now placed firmly on Hop’s shoulders, their faces inches apart. That was not how either of them had imagined this day would have ended, but Hop was the one getting the short end of the stick here. “Hop, look me in the eyes and tell me you weren’t named after a Nuppet.”

Hop, for better or for worse, actually knew the answer, because he’d asked his parents that exact question when the terrifying thought that this might be a possibility hit him while he was going to sleep a few months ago. “I wasn’t named after a bloody hoppip Nuppet, Victor,” Hop responded, very confident in his answer. What he _wasn’t_ confident in was the explanation that would have to follow shortly after. “It was the pokémon itself…” he added, his voice low, praying to all possible deities that Victor hadn’t heard him, but he did, because their faces were very, _very_ close.

Victor reeled, this time physically, his brain flatlining. Hop couldn’t help but notice how both of them seemed to live and breathe drama, because this piece of information didn’t deserve such a visceral response. “Oh my fucking Arceus,” Victor muttered, looking lost, not knowing what to do with that. Hop couldn’t blame him, because he didn’t either. And then, as if things couldn’t get worse, he saw a fraction of a smile making its way to Victor’s lips as he basked in the delight of Schadenfreude. “You were named after a pokémon species. A hoppip. Hop. A _hoppip._ Holy shit. Arceus, my sides—”

Victor’s words slowly got decreasingly less comprehensible as he spoke, leaving him a mess of conflicting emotions and laughter. Hop, on the other hand, was a mess of conflicting emotions and misery. The tables had been turned.

“You’re having way too much fun with this.”

Victor bent forward and put his hands on his knees for support, wheezing and gasping for air as he cackled. Every time he seemed to be slowly getting his shit together as his laughter died out, he remembered the situation and its absurdity and got himself back to square one. His chest was starting to hurt from the sheer effort his lungs were making. After what felt like hours for both of them, Victor managed to say, “This is the highlight of my entire week!”

“How depressing.”

“Fucking _hoppip.”_

Hop despaired, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m sorry we can’t all have boring, ordinary names, _Victor.”_

Victor chose to completely ignore him, wiping a tear from his eye as he attempted to compose himself lest he have an asthma attack and end up in the hospital. That is, if he made it to the hospital at all. Considering Hop’s grim expression, he might just leave Victor to die, and, honestly, who could blame him? “Can I…” He took a deep breath, doing his best to quell another fit of giggles. “Can I call you Pippi?”

“No.”

“I’m doing it anyway.”

Hop wasn’t sure why he even bothered at this point, because he was barely holding it together. Just barely. Like all of his emotions had been haphazardly tied together with duct tape and silly string. “I want a divorce,” Hop announced in a dramatic fashion that a professional actor could only dream of achieving, turning on his heels and making his way to the door with no hesitation.

“Come on, Pippi, don’t do this,” Victor responded, his voice breaking slightly at the end. Not because he was heartbroken over the situation, though—no, no, he was just trying to prevent a fresh burst of laughter from resurfacing and damaging his lungs even further. He reached out and grabbed Hop by the wrist, wheezing and nearly keeling over from the lack of air in the process.

Hop shook his head, looking forlorn. There was nothing in this relationship worth salvaging. “I'm sorry, Victor, the love is gone.” He yanked his hand back and out of Victor's grasp, as if he'd been burnt. His gaze rounded the room and landed on the three pokémon that they’d long forgotten were there. They had moved to another corner of the room, still surrounding that same cap they’d been gawking at and prodding before. In one swift move, Hop bent down and snatched the cap from the floor, using it to lure the three pokémon into following him outside like a bastardised version of the Pied Piper of Hamelin. He then turned to Victor and said, “I’m taking the kids.”

Victor looked up. They locked eyes. “Pippi, there’s gotta be another way.”

But Hop didn’t hear him, for he was already leaving, and, since he was holding their oh so revered cap, so were their pokémon—even Hibiscus. She didn’t look back. Victor had never felt so betrayed in his entire life. While processing the situation, it took him a few minutes to realize he was alone again. Alone, surrounded by thousands of caps—the cause of his divorce, and the reminder of what would surely be a bitter memory.

Maybe, if Victor apologized enough, he’d get visitation rights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's been a month. Yes, I'm posting this at midnight. I'm just out here living my best life.
> 
> Can you believe it's now four chapters and we haven't progressed much? Yeah, it's the ADHD. But don't fret, perhaps by the end of next year I'll manage to get those two idiots to Turffield! Won't that be exciting? Ah, I'm just messing with you guys. It'll just take, like, seven months. Probably. Hopefully. Uh, notes! I gotta do that.
> 
> — Leon's totally onto something. He can read those two like an open book, and they're illiterate. Hop's purposefully trying to deflect and be as illiterate as possible, and Victor's just chilling. Dude just wants to eat his steak.
> 
> — It's totally ironic. There's nothing more to it. Very ironic. One-hundred percent. No homo.
> 
> — The stickers on Leon's door came from his notebooks. He would always get excited to buy a new one just so he could peel the stickers off and put them on his door, and when there was no more space he would just hoard them. Like he's now doing with the caps. Someone help this man.
> 
> — Great-grandpa Kermit is a riot. He’s the reason behind the existence of at least five laws in Galar, and he lives in the memory of the Harleys as that one guy from your family you love to gossip about but would never want to actually meet in person.
> 
> — No, I didn't make a typo, it's really called The Nuppets. I wanted to just say The Muppets but that felt a bit too on the nose so I just, like, changed a letter, which is a really creative decision on my part. Kermit's still there, though. Kermit is a universal constant.
> 
> — Hop and Victor will never NOT be dramatic.
> 
> Ahh I'm finally done with this chapter. It was already nearly done but I had to alter some things and I procrastinated. But hey, it's here lmao. Anyway, uh, Merry* belated Christmas to you guys :P
> 
> EDIT: *I meant merry, not marry. Please don't marry Christmas.


	5. Do rebels dream of black sheep?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m unbelievably bored.”
> 
> “Alright, here’s an _unbelievable_ suggestion: _sleep.”_

Despite the divorce, Hop and Victor still opted to have a sleepover together.

It had been one hell of a chore to get Victor to shut up about the hoppip cap throughout the day. It seemed like that was all he was going to talk about for weeks, and Hop just wanted a goddamn break. He was very lucky that his suggestion of swapping childhood stories served as a good distraction for Victor as well as himself. After half an hour of dramatically recounting and reenacting tales from their childhood—all of which grew increasingly more unlikely as they went—the two of them found themselves too enthralled to think about anything else. Mimzy, Hibiscus and Spitfire joined in on the fun, sometimes pretending to be the enemies that they were supposed to fight, and sometimes being the ones to protect them instead.

In the end, they left the childhood stories behind and started making their own narrative instead, complete with witches and enchanted swords and an incredibly complex plot that involved overthrowing the oppressive monarchy. Hop and Victor never thought they’d find themselves having such a heated argument about how mariticide was dealt with in the Victorian Era, but there they were, having that exact argument while Hop brandished a pen towards Victor’s direction as menacingly as one could. Victor, on the other hand, was not-as-menacingly holding a pillow to his chest, the suspension of disbelief allowing him to pretend it was a shield that would protect him from any bodily harm—which it wouldn’t, because it was a pillow.

“For the last goddamn time, Vic!” Hop spat, anguished, as he frantically waved the pen around. It was a good thing that it was just a make-believe sword instead of a real one, otherwise his room would’ve been in way worse shape. “There weren’t guillotines in the Victorian Era!” This argument had been going on for Arceus knows how long and neither side was willing to relent. It was starting to get tiring, but they were too prideful to let it go.

“Well, there should have been!” Victor responded just as feverently, nearly throwing his pillow on the floor in anger. “If there were guillotines the queen wouldn’t have died!” He wasn’t even sure if they were talking about the actual queen of Galar or the one they made up for their story, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it didn’t matter. She was—or would be—dead either way.

“Yes, she would’ve!” Hop looked exasperated, and he actually  _ did _ throw the pen he was holding on the floor out of sheer frustration. Spitfire cried out in alarm, almost being hit by the projectile, but Hop was too focused on proving his point to notice. “Did you learn nothing with the Kalosian Revolution?!”

“Fuck you!”

“Fuck  _ you!” _

Hop and Victor would have thrown hands there and then if they’d been left to their devices, but one thing made them stop in their tracks: the sound of a doorknob turning. They froze in place, unsure of what to do as their minds blanked. It was a matter of seconds before the two of them found themselves facing Leon, who wore an expression of confusion mixed with mild concern. His brows were furrowed and his eyes scanned the messy room, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. He’d undoubtedly heard the shouting match.

“What’s going on here?” Leon inquired, not even knowing where to start. There was a lot to process here. “Why were you two screaming?”

Hop spun on his heels and locked eyes with his father, proceeding to completely ignore all of his questions in favour of saying, “Papa! Tell Victor that there weren’t any guillotines in the Victorian Era!” Leon wished this could’ve answered any of his questions, but it didn’t—in fact, it only raised  _ more _ questions.

_ “Pardon?” _ he asked, unsure of what to make of the information he’d been given.

Neither of them gave Leon a chance to recover as Victor immediately piped up with, “You know that’s a lie! There’s historical proof!”

Hop narrowed his eyes at such a bold statement. “And  _ where _ is it?”

He felt a twinge of satisfaction at the sight of Victor stumbling over his own words in response, knowing very well that he’d lied about the so-called ‘historical proof’ and that he was just making bullshit up at that point. It was hilarious to watch him sputter as he clutched the pillow tightly in his arms, understanding that he’d been caught and unsure of what to do. Hop didn’t know how long this argument had been going on for—knowing them, probably half an hour or so—but hopefully it would all be resolved now that he had the historically accurate high ground. Victor surely would have to recognize his—

_ THUMP! _

Hop barely had time to react before he was unceremoniously hit in the face by a pillow. He took a step back, taken aback, as the projectile fell to the floor. Being assaulted with a pillow didn’t hurt at all in the physical sense, because it was a  _ pillow,  _ but mentally? He may never recover. This was  _ decades _ of therapy he was talking about here.

The room fell silent.

Leon, who had still been trying to make sense of the words ‘guillotines in the Victorian Era’ just a few seconds ago, was the first one to react. He swiftly positioned himself between the two boys without a second thought, fearing that, without adult intervention, this may escalate into a fistfight. Now, Hop wasn’t a violent child by any means—quite the contrary, he always tried to avoid getting into trouble back at Wyndon, even if not all of his attempts were successful—and Victor didn’t seem like the troublemaker type either, but Leon would rather be safe than sorry at the moment. As a parent, he knew that children tended to be somewhat irrational and unpredictable, especially when they were sleepy and cranky and arguing about historical facts of dubious accuracy.

“Alright,” Leon chuckled nervously as he raised both his hands in the air as if that would make things better. He couldn’t help but feel like he was dealing with two ticking time bombs. “Let’s all calm down for a moment—”

He didn’t get very far before things started going south.

“He hit me with a pillow!” Hop cried out matter-of-factly, outraged. The pillow was still lying at his feet, unmoving, and he resisted the urge to kick it to the side. It’d probably make him seem way more childish than he was currently being seen as and it certainly wouldn’t do him any favours in that regard.

Victor was unimpressed. “Quit being dramatic. I bet it didn’t even hurt.”

Of course it didn’t hurt. It was a goddamn pillow. Unless it was filled with bricks or being launched towards him at the speed of light there were very little ways one could hurt someone else with a sack filled with wool. But Victor wasn’t getting the bigger picture here. “It hurt emotionally,” Hop clarified, putting a hand on his heart for emphasis. He saw his father raise an eyebrow, unsure of how to react, but this wasn’t about him.

And yet, despite his top tier acting, Victor  _ remained _ unimpressed. “Hop,” he said condescendingly, “it’s just a pillow.”

Hop had a feeling that Victor wouldn’t get it no matter how many times he repeated himself, and this would be an ongoing issue in their relationship. “This is why we’re divorcing, Victor,” he pointed out, his voice cool and indifferent like he intended. If all else failed, Hop could always rely on possibly becoming an actor. And, if he was being honest, he felt like he’d aged forty years after uttering that sentence, even if he didn’t mean it… probably. “You never cared about me. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

Did divorced people act like this? Hop wasn’t sure, but they should. Court proceedings would be much more entertaining if everyone acted like they were theatre kids getting their first role.

Leon felt like he should have said something at that point, but this was too much information for him to process. Since when was Hop getting divorced? Since when was he  _ married? _ Was this some sort of inside joke he wasn’t getting or…? Leon cast a semi-desperate glance towards the pokémon trio in the room, wondering if maybe they could help explain this—which was a moronic idea in hindsight, but he was so lost and conflicted that he was willing to try anything in order to get some goddamn context—but they'd already fallen asleep (possibly out of boredom) on top of each other, forming a big and adorable cuddle pile.

Leon realized he was alone in this.

_ Arceus help me. _

The two children continued to pretend he wasn’t there. Victor gave Hop a look that one might give to a conspiracy theorist in a fast food restaurant, unbelieving and exasperated yet secretly amused. “It’s a pillow, Hop,” he slowly repeated, throwing himself into the act just as feverently, because if he was going to get dragged into this mess he might as well have fun with it, “a  _ pillow.” _

Hop sighed in a dramatic fashion. “It’s not about the pillow, Victor. It’s about what the pillow represents.”

“What  _ does _ the pillow represent?” Victor asked, and that was his mistake.

He only realized he’d made a grave error when Hop cracked an amused grin, instantly breaking the persona of a heartbroken spouse longing for the good old days. _ “Your last brain cell,” _ he quipped without hesitation, proud of himself for finally coming up with something better than ‘a soggy bag of potatoes’. Good things do indeed come for those who wait.

Victor looked so aggrieved that he might as well implode on the spot.  _ “FIGHT ME!” _

Hop didn’t back down.  _ “GLADLY!” _

_ Okay, now’s the time to intervene, _ Leon realized as he, too late to stop the bombs from going off to begin with, placed his hands on both the children’s heads the moment they started moving to prevent them from charging at each other at full speed and with murderous intent. It was a godsend that he happened to be stronger than they were, although having to hold both of them back at the same time was wearing him off faster than he expected. It didn’t help that they had more energy to spare than he did, and that energy wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. If Leon wanted a chance at going to sleep before the sun went up, he would have to deescalate the situation right now.

“Hey, hey, hey!” he sputtered in a final, desperate attempt at calming the two children down. It was unfortunate that this was a method better suited for unruly wooloo than agitated humans. And yet, despite all odds, it  _ worked. _ Perhaps it was due to the realization that there was a physical object blocking their path, or the indignation that they were being given the same treatment that one might give to a fussy toddler, but it worked all the same and that was all that mattered right now. Hop and Victor retreated to where they once stood, unsure of how to proceed. Leon internally sighed in relief, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. “I think it’s time for you kids to go to sleep.”

Hop and Victor’s expressions fell because, unlike the old, boring adults that surrounded them wherever they went, the two of them weren’t that eager to go to bed. They hadn’t even gotten to the best part of their story yet, and that in itself should be a good enough reason as to why they should be allowed to stay up for a bit longer. “But it’s not even midnight yet!” Hop protested, as if that was a sound and reasonable argument for a ten-year-old to use against his father.

In his defense, however, it sounded better in his head.

“Hop, you know your bedtime is at ten,” Leon levelly reminded, much to his son’s chagrin. Living with his grandmother for all these months caused Hop to forget that he did indeed have a bedtime because, unlike his fathers, Camellia had long stopped bothering with trying to enforce it. He was hoping Leon would also forget about that irrelevant detail, but he never did, despite forgetting how to get to his own goddamn house on a daily basis. How he managed to do that was a complete and total mystery.

The best thing he could do right now was try to bargain. “Can’t we stay up for ten more minutes?”

“Your ‘ten minutes’ always end up becoming an extra hour,” Leon remarked. He and Raihan had tried being more lenient in the past, but they quickly learned that Hop would use their kindness and take advantage of it to stay up as long as possible. It wasn’t done with malicious intent—he was still a child, after all—but that meant they would have to go back to being strict with his bedtime, and even stricter when it came to enforcing it. Nobody was happy with that.

Hop opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He ran out of things to say, and it seemed like his father wasn’t willing to budge on this. Before he could give up, however, Victor—who’d been uncharacteristically silent throughout all of this—piped up with a plan of his own. “Mr. Leon, come play with us!”

Hop’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, because that could actually work and they’d be simultaneously solving two problems in one. Victor did have his moments sometimes. “Yeah!” he eagerly agreed, his enthusiasm spiking up at the same time as Leon’s blood pressure, because  _ oh Arceus, not again. _ “You can be the queen! You even have a crown and everything!” Hop motioned to the cap his father was wearing. The fact that he had yet to take it off despite being otherwise ready to go to sleep said more about him than the thousands of internet articles online did.

Leon’s gaze shifted between them and he let out a sigh before placing his hands on his hips in what seemed like a position of utter defeat. “Alright then,” he seemingly relented. And then, before Hop and Victor even had the chance to process what they had been told, Leon added in an authoritative yet exaggerated high-pitched voice, “As the queen, I officially command you two to go to bed.” There was a moment of silence following that, and he almost felt bad for crushing the children’s hopes and dreams like that.

_ Almost. _

Victor tried to protest. “But—”

Leon was smart enough to learn from his past self’s mistakes, and he wasn’t going to let this go on further than it needed to. “Nu-uh, kiddo, queen’s orders,” he interrupted while wagging his finger disapprovingly, head held high much like a true monarch. “You can’t go against the queen.”

Hop raised an eyebrow in return. “Uh, sure we can. We were planning to behead you three minutes ago.” It was only after he finished that sentence—and upon receiving a look of flummoxed horror from his tired father—that Hop remembered that he should probably give Leon some more context so that he wouldn’t think that he and Victor were sitting in his room for three hours thoroughly discussing guillotining  _ him _ instead of the fictional queen that he’d been semi-coerced into playing. It was a bit late for that, though.

“And put your severed head in front of the castle as an example for the other nobles!” Victor unhelpfully added, and that really didn’t make things much better.

Leon blinked, unsure of what he just heard, unsure of how to proceed, unsure of  _ anything, _ really. Nobody taught him how to deal with your child and his friend’s morbid interest in execution apparatuses during parenting classes. “Are you two okay?” he managed to let out at last, and that was a damn good question.

“There have been very few instances in my life in which I could have been considered mentally sound,” Hop responded with a solemn nod.

Victor followed with, “No, I have Hole in Brain disease.”

Hop’s eyes widened as his gaze shifted from Leon to Victor, feeling like he’d just been told something life-changing, and turned back to his father with newfound enthusiasm. “Forget what I said, I also wanna have Hole in Brain disease!” Leon just stared in return, not even bothering anymore. He worried so much for that child sometimes.

“Dude,” Victor intoned, affronted. “Don’t steal my disease.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Hop replied, voice dripping with sarcasm as he put his hands up for emphasis. “I didn't know you had a monopoly on specific ailments, Dr. Ludwig of the Unova region.” He could give up now and create his own cooler disorder to spite Victor, but this wasn’t about the disease itself, it was about the principle of the matter, and the principle was that he should be allowed to have Hole in Brain disease if he wanted.

“I  _ did not _ spend eight years earning my PhD just to be disrespected like this.”

“How'd you earn a PhD if you have a hole in your brain?” Hop smugly pointed out, knowing he’d backed Victor into a corner. Victor himself seemed to have realized that as well, because he gave up trying to argue about that in particular and opted to make himself seem like the victim instead.

“Really? Is this how it's gonna be? You come into  _ my _ house—”

“This isn't your house.”

“—and disrespect me in front of  _ the champion?” _ Victor dramatically gestured towards Leon, and that was when Hop remembered that, despite everything, he was still there (which was commendable). He hadn’t talked in a while and, even though he was ten-years-old, Hop had yet to acquire object permanence, so to his barely functioning brain Leon just perfectly blended with the background whenever he wasn’t badgering him about something that he needed to do.

Hop waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, he doesn’t mind.”

“Um—”

“Pa,  _ do you mind?” _ Hop interjected, even though he’d specified less than three seconds ago that Leon did not, in fact, mind. The glance he was giving his father somehow made  _ him _ feel like the child in this situation. “We’re in the middle of something here.”

Leon decided that this had gone on long enough. If allowed, Hop and Victor would keep going at it all night as they argued about PhD’s and guillotines and other morbid topics that Leon didn’t even know they had an interest in. “Alright, you two can work on overthrowing the monarchy tomorrow,” he said, his voice leaving no room for discussion, as he pushed the two boys towards the bed and air mattress that had been laid out for Victor. “Right now you two are going to sleep. Can't lead a revolution when you're tired, now can you?”

It was a godsend that Hop actually relented for once. “Fine, fine.”

Leon’s smile softened at that. “Do you need me to tuck you in, Hopscotch?” he wistfully asked, remembering when that’d been something expected of him and he didn’t need to ask. Hop had stopped asking him to tuck him in when he turned eight, only two years ago, but it felt like an eternity in his eyes. As a child, Leon never believed his mother whenever she lamented the fact that he was, in her own words, ‘growing up too fast for her liking’, because he always felt like it was taking him centuries to become an adult, but he understood what she meant now that he had his own child who was growing up too fast for  _ his _ liking.

And, every time he asked that question, he was met with the same indignant answer. “What? No, I'm not a baby!”

Leon’s smile turned into a cheeky grin. “You'll always be  _ my _ baby.”

Hop heard Victor let out a snort somewhere beside him, and at that very moment he wanted nothing more than to burst into flames and let the wind carry his ashes. Preferably somewhere far, far away from here.  _ “Leon!” _

Leon understood that being called by his first name by his own son meant that he was mad at him—his burning face was a testament to that—although the last time this had happened was when Hop was a toddler who had just learned that his parents' names weren't daddy and papa. He felt some satisfaction in knowing that, despite being one of the greatest champions to ever grace the Galar region, he was still able to embarrass his son in front of his friends like most parents eventually do. That was half the fun of being a father, actually. “Sweet dreams, kiddos!” Leon added with a chuckle before leaving the room and closing the door behind him.

Hop just hoped he wouldn’t return. 

Ever.

He turned to Victor, who was doing a terrible job when it came to trying to stifle his laughter, and hissed out, “Not a word.”

“Of course,” Victor agreed, although Hop did not miss the slight hint of mockery in his tone, which was confirmed by his next sentence, “Wouldn’t wanna upset the  _ baby, _ after all.”

“I  _ will _ hit you with a pillow and I  _ will _ make it hurt,” he threatened in response, bending down to pick up the pillow that’d been cast aside and forgotten some time ago. During different circumstances Hop would’ve chucked it at Victor with as much force as possible—not like it would make a difference, considering the incredibly low probability of fatal accidents involving pillows—but after everything that just occurred, he just wanted to go to sleep. Their pokémon had already found a cozy spot to cuddle together, Hibiscus and Spitfire using Mimzy’s wool as a pillow of sorts. It was an adorable sight, and it kind of made Hop want to go to sleep too.

Victor must’ve realized Hop was spouting empty threats at that point, and it only fueled his teasing. “Sounds like someone’s cranky. You need a nap?”

Honestly, yes, Hop  _ did _ need a nap. More than that, actually, he needed a whole twenty-four hours of uninterrupted sleep if he wanted to have enough energy to come up with a good retaliation plan against Victor in the foreseeable future. He was never good at coming up with anything remotely close to coherent while sleep deprived and, believe it or not, that happened more often than not seeing as he no longer had a bedtime schedule (well, until now). The results were  _ always _ disastrous. In his defense, however, Victor always seemed to think his schemes were at least semi-reasonable in theory, so he was  _ also _ to blame. They were two halves of a whole idiot and they’d own that proudly.

...Alright, maybe not  _ proudly, _ but they’d still own it.

Having given up on trying to argue at that point, Hop just made a beeline to his now oh so inviting bed, exhaustion unexpectedly catching up to him. Maybe it was the fact that verbally fighting with Victor always caused his brain cells to kill themselves at an alarming rate in order to spare themselves the trouble of having to waste their potential on such pointless activities, and now he had a total of zero brain cells remaining. Perhaps a good night’s sleep would be enough to get a quarter of them back by tomorrow, but he wouldn’t put much hope onto it. Well, it wasn’t a big loss. Not like he was using them for anything important anyway.

Victor must’ve taken notice of Hop’s lack of indignant retorting because he broke the silence with, “You know—” And then immediately proceeded to get hit in the face by the pillow that he’d been previously spared from.

Hop unceremoniously dropped his whole body onto the bed, the comforting warmth of the blankets pulling him closer, and grunted, “Go the fuck to sleep.”

Thankfully, judging by the silence that followed, it seemed like Victor got the message. Hop heard footsteps that could only be his walking away from where he was lying in his bed. For a moment Hop considered asking Victor why he was making his way to the door instead of, you know, his  _ bed, _ but his questions were answered when he heard a  _ CLICK _ followed by darkness. Oh, of course, the lights. How the hell did he forget about  _ that _ of all things? Maybe the lack of brain cells was getting to him… or the lack of sleep… or the lack of giving a fuck.

Whatever.

After that was done and they’d been successfully embraced by the eternal void of the darkness, Victor slowly made his way towards the air mattress that had been laid out for him near Hop’s twin bed at the corner of the room, and the only way Hop knew this was because he could hear his friend’s footsteps getting closer and nothing else. He refused to move from his spot, waiting for the arms of unconsciousness to forcefully take him from this world for the time being. Hop could almost feel himself slowly falling asleep, his eyelids growing heavier as his body relaxed more and more with every second that passed…

And then Victor had to fucking  _ ruin it. _

“Can I ask you a question?”

Hop let out a long,  _ long _ sigh, forcing himself to say something despite every inch of his body screaming at him to ignore his surroundings and just go to sleep already. “Victor, I swear to Arceus—”

“It’s not baby-related.”

“...You’re on thin ice. Proceed.”

After managing to gather enough willpower to snap himself out of his sleepiness, Hop flipped around on his bed so that he was lying on his back, head turned towards Victor. Even in the dark he could see that his friend appeared to be lost in thought,eyeing something in the corner of the room. Following his gaze, Hop’s eyes landed on their pokémon, the light of the moon passing through the window and shining on their peaceful figures as they slept soundly while pressed against each other. It was such a soothing sight that Hop couldn’t help but want to join them, pressing his head against Mimzy’s fluffy coat like the world’s greatest pillow.

“I just wanna know—” Victor started, his gaze shifting from their pokémon to the ceiling as if he was staring off into the abyss, “—how’d you meet Mimzy?”

Hop blinked, his barely functioning brain processing the question at a painstakingly slow pace. “Why do you ask?”

“I’m unbelievably bored.”

“Alright, here’s an  _ unbelievable  _ suggestion:  _ sleep.” _

“Humor me.”

Hop thought about it for a second. He could, theoretically speaking, tell Victor to fuck off and go back to sleep like he’d been planning, but a part of him also wanted to relive that fateful day in an epic narrative. Besides, he was going to tell Victor about it eventually anyway, so why not? Sitting up to keep himself awake—because he was still tired as hell—Hop crossed his legs and leaned against the cold wall next to the window, as if he was just about to unleash the sickest piece of knowledge that could be bestowed upon a man onto his best friend, which, in his mind, wouldn’t be too far off from the truth.

“Alright, so it all started two years ago in Wyndon,” Hop chronicled dramatically, noticing how Victor seemed surprised that he actually complied with his request. “I studied—still study, actually—at Wyndon Academy, which is, you know, a  _ very _ innovative name for a school, but I digress. They had this big back garden that you were only given access to during recess or after classes were over. It was full of trees and flowers as well as all sorts of pokémon, and we were allowed to play with them because they were docile.” Hop paused. “Most of the time.”

“What’s that mean? Did someone get bitten?” Victor cut him off, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards as he interrupted the narrative to inquire about this very important detail—it wasn’t essential to the story itself, but it was essential in the sense that he wouldn’t be able to go to sleep if he didn’t get an answer. Hop wasn’t surprised that he would be one to partake in schadenfreude. “It was you, wasn’t it? I bet it was. In fact, I bet my life savings on it.”

Hop’s lips curled into a smirk that perfectly matched Victor’s. “Are you sure you’re willing to lose your five poképounds?”

“I… I’ve lived a very short life, okay?”

“I can tell. Doesn’t matter either way because you lost the bet, mate,” Hop cheerfully retorted in a singsong voice. “That’s what you get for gambling. I thought you knew better.” Before he had a chance to defend himself and deny his very obvious problem, Hop continued his tale. “As I was saying before you interrupted me with your terrible gambling habit—which you really should get help for, by the way—the back garden at Wyndon Academy attracted all sorts of pokémon, and it was also a great spot for studying, so Ari and I—”

Victor cut him off yet again, but this time his question was a bit more relevant. “Ari? Who’s Ari?”

“Oh, she’s the local goth at Wyndon Academy, and also my sister.”

Victor was, understandably, gobsmacked. “You have a  _ sister?” _

“Yes and no,” Hop responded, and that just confused Victor even more. “Our parents know each other so we basically grew up together. We  _ do _ consider each other siblings in all senses—you know, defending each other, sharing things, fighting over pointless stuff, trying to sell each other’s souls in exchange for eternal life, just sibling stuff—but we’re not biologically related.” He paused again. “...I think.” Victor raised an eyebrow, but Hop just ignored him. “We’re getting off-topic. Ari and I liked to study in the garden because it was peaceful most of the time. We  _ were _ studying but then we kind of got into an argument about an emo band that broke up at the time.”

“Dude.”

Hop continued to ignore him. “I was making a very strong case about how them breaking up was a good thing—because it was, trust me on this one—when I heard a cry coming from behind the tree. And that was a bit concerning. Ari and I thought that James got bit by a greedent again, but it was a godsend that I managed to convince her not to call for a teacher just yet, because she’d probably force James to get another rabies shot—” Victor blinked; this was too much information for him to process all at once, “—and she reluctantly agreed. And, what would you know, turns out it wasn’t James missing a finger, but a wounded wooloo.”

“Oh!” Victor exclaimed, sitting up on his air mattress in excitement. “That was Mimzy, right?”

“Yes,” Hop confirmed, amused. “Thank you for your oh so helpful contribution to the story, Captain Obvious. Now, I’m not sure if you know this, being from Unova and all, but wooloo are not native to Wyndon—not even close, actually—so Ari and I assumed this must’ve been a runaway. Well, I did at least, because Ari quickly pointed out that, besides the folk from Postwick and Wedgehurst, nobody would even think about catching her.”

“Really?” Victor’s gaze shifted from Hop to Mimzy. It was hard to believe that someone  _ wouldn’t  _ want a pokémon as cute and loveable as her, even if she was a little airheaded and accident-prone. “Why not?”

Hop avoided Victor’s eyes for a moment, and the shift in his mood was evident. “...Just trust me on this one.”

Victor didn’t reply.

Thankfully it only took Hop a second to recover from whatever took over him and he was back to retelling Mimzy’s dramatic origin story in no time. “Ari and I came up with a plan. We’d move Mimzy to a more discreet spot in the garden—one that nobody went to for some weird reason—and take care of her without anyone knowing. It kind of felt like we were on a secret mission and all. We agreed that I’d get meds and Ari would get food. My dads, ever the compulsive hoarders that they are, kept tons of potions inside the house and I didn’t think they’d miss any, so I took a few. And I know what you’re thinking: but Hop, isn’t that stealing—”

“I wasn’t thinking that.”

“I don’t care,” Hop retorted without hesitation, and Victor promptly burst out laughing, which caused Hop to do so as well. The two stopped when they remembered they were supposed to be sleeping. It’d be terrible if Leon or Camellia found them awake right now. “Anyway,” Hop continued after recovering, stifling another laugh, “It took about three days for Mimzy to recover as we secretly fed her berries and gave her potions to help her heal faster. She was in a pretty bad state back then, but in less than a week she was pretty much back to normal! Well, normal for a wooloo, at least. After a tearful departure, we let her go.”

“And you never saw her again,” Victor completed dramatically, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye.

“Yes,” Hop followed along, wistfully shaking his head in faux sadness. “Sometimes I can still hear her crying…” And then, right at that moment, Mimzy let out a loud snore in her sleep. Victor and Hop shared a glance before bursting out laughing again, although they showed some more restraint this time around. They didn’t want to wake their pokémon, after all. “I wasn’t really playing when I said we let Mimzy go, though, because we did, but the next day we found her there again, waiting for us so we could play with her. Ari and I were very confused, so we repeated the ‘releasing’ process again, and again, and  _ again, _ but she kept coming back to us…”

Hop looked at his wooloo, his everlasting partner, and smiled. “It was after a week of this that I came to the realization that she wanted to stay.” He paused. “I asked Ari if she was going to take Mimzy—because this is a black wooloo and at the time she was kind of going through a goth phase that she somehow never grew out of—although I was really hoping she wouldn’t. Thankfully Ari can read me like an open children’s book with big, colorful letters, because she encouraged me to catch her instead, saying she already had a pokémon—which was true. But, uh, I didn’t have any pokéballs… so I went home and stole one.”

“How many things did you steal during this entire story?” Victor asked. “If it’s seven you get a felony charge and jail time.”

“First of all, that’s not true, because rich people don’t go to jail,” Hop began, crossing his arms. Victor opened his mouth to retort, but he had nothing. “Second of all, it was eight, so  _ ha! _ I mean, it was just a single pokéball. It wasn’t like I was stealing a kidney to sell on the black market or something. The next day, after classes were over, I offered the pokéball to Mimzy, because I had to know if she wanted to come with me instead of just capturing her outright. And it was at that moment that I learned that, uh, how do I put this… Mimzy’s not very bright. She had no idea what a pokéball was, so… she tried to eat it.”

Victor chuckled. “Birds of a feather do flock together after all.”

“Shut.” Hop rolled his eyes. How dare. This was his life story. “When she tried to eat it, she accidentally pressed the pokéball’s capture button. It was an immediate catch. I was so proud, even though I did literally nothing, and Ari was happy for me. One thing I didn’t factor, though, was the most important one: my parents. I had no idea how they’d react to me stealing from them and coming home with a random pokémon I found in the bushes, so I devised a brilliant plan.”

“Hop, your plans are shit.”

_ “Shut.” _ Hopefully by the end of this story Victor would stop giving him ‘hot takes’ that absolutely nobody asked for. “I snuck Mimzy inside our house, which was incredibly easy since she was inside her pokéball most of the time, and kept her in my room. It was not easy, and I found out the hard way that she likes to headbutt the wall and munch inedible things, but I adapted. My dads only found out two days later when they noticed the food was running out faster than they expected, and also that a TR, which she’d somehow managed to steal from their room, was gone. They weren’t very happy about it. As you can see, I was kinda dumb as a child.”

“But you’re still a child,” Victor pointed out. “And you’re still dumb.”

“Yup, that’s it,” Hop proclaimed as he flopped on his bed, pulling the covers over his head. If he was going to be insulted like this then Victor might as well suffer not knowing the end of his thrilling story. He was going to extend it a little bit, even, but his friend needed to be punished for his insolence. “Story’s over.”

“Aw, come on, Hop, I didn’t mean to hurt your feewees.”

“Yes, you did.”

Victor leaned against the bed frame. “Hop, talk to me-e-e...” he whined, and then paused for a moment. For a second Hop thought he might have some peace at least, but he was brought back to reality real quick. “Pippi—” And so Victor was immediately hit in the face with a pillow for the second time that night.

“Cease, heathen.”

That unfortunately did not deter Victor. “You know you love me.”

Hop sighed.

“I do and I hate it.”

And that was the end of their exchange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about the rest of you, but I would _die_ for Mimzy.
> 
> Happy 2021 to all of you reading this! Hopefully this year I'll manage to complete ONE fanfic in my life, and this might be it. But it's gonna be long, seeing as we're five chapters in and we haven't even gotten to the _first battle of the game_ lmao. It's coming soon, I promise fgdfg. Please bear with me. In the meantime, have some notes for this chapter!
> 
> — Legend says that Hop and Victor are still arguing about whether or not there were guillotines in the Victorian Era to this day. If you make an effort, you can hear their petty squabble in the wind.
> 
> — Yes, I did have to google if there were guillotines in the Victorian Era, because I'm not a history-savvy person. Imagine if I wrote something historically inaccurate in a Pokémon fanfic? Preposterous!
> 
> — The title is a reference to the book 'Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?' I've never read it but the reference is funny enough lmao.
> 
> — Leon and Raihan are both embarrassing parents. You'd think they'd be the cool parents that every child wants to have, but they're _so_ embarrassing. Hop's losing his mind.
> 
> — James is fine.
> 
> — Mimzy actually exists! Look, [here she is!](https://i.imgur.com/vs9mXp5.jpg) Now, one might assume I based Hop's wooloo on my in-game wooloo, but it was actually the opposite! I started writing this fic before I played the game (although I only published it in October, after I had a few chapters already written), and I was so in love with Mimzy's concept that I hunted a shiny wooloo before the first gym and named her Mimzy. It was a pretty funny coincidence that she was jolly-natured, too.
> 
> Anyway, that's it for today folks. It's currently midnight (I always seem to post chapters at midnight) and I need to go to sleep. Thanks for reading!


	6. Incandescent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Which means… Hop Harley-Wyver, I challenge you to a Pokémon Battle!”

Hop awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside his window.

With the willpower of someone who’d been kicked in the chin while unconscious, he propped himself up with an elbow, making an admittedly feeble attempt to fight the sleep off. Hop entertained the thought of waking up for approximately two seconds before giving up and flopping back onto his bed, basking in the softness of his blankets and how cozy they suddenly felt. They beckoned him, convincing him to stay in bed with nothing but their comfort as a lure. He wrapped himself tighter in his cocoon, and he was sure that, to the rookidees and corvisquires outside his window, he looked like an oversized caterpie. The feeling of the sun bathing the room in its light and warmth slowly lulled him back to sleep...

For about ten seconds.

Hop heard a faint shuffling noise in the distance—something that, in hindsight, he should’ve probably taken as a warning—followed by a sudden weight being dropped on top of his chest. He jumped in surprise and semi-conscious fright, not knowing what had hit him (and scared to know), but instantly relaxed when he felt a familiar cold nose pressing against his cheek as a morning greeting.

Hop chuckled, petting Mimzy’s head as he tried to shake the sleep off. With a yawn, he picked her up and placed her on the floor. Taking a few seconds to stretch and make sure he was really awake, as well as to mentally prepare himself for a brand new day, Hop hastily changed his outfit from the pyjamas he was wearing to his usual outfit. He then proceeded to do his morning routine: combing his hair, brushing his teeth, making sure he didn’t look like he was just woken up by his wooloo. When he was done, Hop felt much more awake.

Mimzy bleated in approval.

Giving her another pat on the head, Hop grabbed the special brush for wooloos and dubwools that he’d brought with him and started quickly making his way through her thick fleece, his movements nimble and precise yet gentle. He’d been doing this for two years at this point and, through trial and error, he had learned the best way to brush Mimzy’s coat. When he first captured her he tried to look up some guides online to educate himself, but apparently every wooloo’s coat had different needs, and Hop couldn’t even begin to be sure that a black-fleeced wooloo didn't have some extra special requirements since he could seldom find any information about them—that is, if he could find information  _ at all. _

Thankfully, he managed to find something that worked out for the both of them, and the combing had become less of an impromptu lesson on wooloo grooming and more of a daily task that he’d started doing automatically.

After about two minutes of combing and brushing and making sure she looked presentable—even though his efforts might be for naught considering how much Mimzy loved rolling around like a football—he was done, wiping the sweat off his forehead and placing the comb aside. With himself and Mimzy having completed their morning routine to a T, the two of them headed downstairs for breakfast. Hop had noticed that, besides Mimzy, there was nobody else in his bedroom, which meant Victor and their pokémon had already woken up before him. How long ago, however, he wasn’t sure.

When he reached the kitchen, Hop was greeted with the familiar scent of coffee and toast that he’d long grown accustomed to. Mimzy immediately spotted Spitfire, Hibiscus, and Morpheus making quick work of their breakfast, and with a quick sniff she took notice of the fourth food bowl that’d been waiting for her, proceeding to then run towards it as fast as her tiny legs allowed her to, her hunger apparent. Hop was just glad she opted out of rolling this time around, as it was way too early in the morning to deal with the possible fallout. He looked around, noticing Typhon’s absence and wondering why he hadn’t joined the others, but quickly remembered that, due to his size and the fact that his tail was a perpetually blazing matchstick that was just begging to set something on fire, him not being allowed inside was probably for the best.

After making sure Mimzy was doing okay, Hop made his way to the table where the rest of his family, plus Victor and Mary, were sitting.

The adults were talking to each other casually, but Hop could sense that the topic was boring based on Victor’s complete and utter disinterest in engaging, focusing solely on inhaling his cheese toastie and orange juice as fast as the human biology would allow him. He held the drive and urgency of a starved circus attraction being fed peanuts by the audience, and Hop wasn’t sure how he hadn’t choked yet. It was a miracle. Nevertheless, he took a seat. Victor was the first one to acknowledge his presence, hastily gulping down what remained of his orange juice to wash down the rest of the cheese toastie he’d been munching on before speaking.

“You’re finally awake.”

Hop nodded, crossing his arms in silent resentment. “Yes. Mimzy had the decency to wait for me unlike  _ certain fake friends.” _

“Sorry, man,” Victor apologised with the voice tone of someone who definitely wasn’t sorry but felt socially obligated to say they were anyway. “I tried to wait for you but my stomach spoke louder.”

“Do you want some orange juice, son?” Leon motioned towards the refrigerator, his sudden interruption drawing both boys’ attention to him. He’d probably sensed the tension in the air and wanted to nip this senseless squabble in the bud before it spiraled into something far beyond his control. A wise decision on his part, but that was to be expected. A parent’s ability to reduce a temper tantrum to silent sulking or mitigate the oncoming drama that may occur lest they intervene was unparalleled, and the amount of bullets that Leon and Raihan had dodged over the years would make a professional athlete green with envy.

“Yes,” Hop mumbled with a slight pout, his frustration wavering until it turned into resignation. “I’ll just eat my grievances away like I usually do.”

“Aha!” Victor exclaimed out of nowhere, pointing an accusatory finger at Hop who’d been too focused on the prospect of getting something of sustenance to eat to register what was happening. “So you  _ do _ get grumpy when you’re hungry!”

“That’s not what I said,” Hop responded, deflecting.

Victor’s smirk widened even more, like his friend had fallen into some sort of mental trap that he’d meticulously laid out. “That’s what I heard.”

Hop could’ve argued—in fact, he was preparing to do so until a second ago—but that required mental effort and willpower and stubbornness and, since he wasn’t entirely awake yet, he had none of those things, so he simply let the conversation die. Breakfast was more important than his ego right now. Victor must’ve realised that their little quarrel hit a brick road and, thankfully, dropped the subject, shifting his attention to their pokémon instead. Hop, on the other hand, didn’t know what to do, so in a desperate attempt to keep himself entertained he tried to focus on what Mary and Camellia were discussing, but then they said the word ‘taxes’ and he immediately tuned them out again, their conversation becoming nothing but white noise in the back of his head.

Fortunately he didn’t have to suffer from boredom for long, as Leon had returned with a cold glass of orange juice and a freshly-prepared cheese toastie, placing it in front of him. Hop hadn’t even realised the full extent of his hunger until now. “Thanks, papa.”

Leon simply offered him a gentle smile and a ruffle of his hair in return. Hop would’ve complained that his act of paternal affection had just undone all of the hard work that Hop had put into brushing his hair, but it would’ve gotten messed up by the end of the day anyway so he didn’t bother. He wasn’t  _ that _ petty, and besides, his father made him a cheese toastie, so Hop could find it in him to be forgiving. Hop reached for his cup of orange juice, the cold glass nearly freezing his palm, and took a sip, enjoying the sweet tast—

Hop gagged, setting the glass down so violently that some of the juice spilled onto the table.

He pressed a balled fist to his pursued lips, moreso to prevent himself from gagging louder than to serve an actual purpose. The bitter taste in his mouth was sudden but overwhelming; not a good combination to start his day. He grimaced, hoping it would go away if he squinted enough, but, unsurprisingly, it didn’t. Hop hadn’t even realised he was making a scene until he took notice of the concerned silence hanging in the air, all eyes on him. He stared at them, and they stared back, nobody knowing what to do or say, until Camellia broke the awkward, terrible silence. “Is something wrong with the orange juice, dear?” she asked, frowning.

Hop shook his head, putting his hand down. “I forgot that I brushed my teeth before I came here.”

“I’ve been there before,” Victor said, despondent, with a nod and a sympathetic wince. Hop might’ve appreciated knowing he wasn’t alone in his dumbassery had it not been for the fact that he was still suffering from the disgusting effects of said dumbassery.

“This tastes terrible. It feels like my tongue’s going to rot and fall off.”

“It’s not  _ that _ bad.”

Hop stared at him, disbelief colouring his expression. He was so dazed that he actually forgot about his own misery for a hot second, threatrics long abandoned. “How can you say that?”

“Pain builds character.”

“I don’t wanna build character at seven in the morning.”

Leon interjected again, opting to focus on the more menial details of this whole exchange for the sake of his own sanity. “It’s a quarter to ten,” he pointed out, motioning with his head to the clock mounted on the wall. It was, indeed, a quarter to ten. Hop had been too busy wallowing in his own misery to bother checking.

“Ah, my mistake,” he admitted, clearing his throat. “I don’t wanna build character at a quart—”

“We understood you the first time, hon,” said Camellia.

“Oh, good.”

Hop picked up his cheese toastie, only now realizing it’d been there the whole time, and took a bite. He was glad to have something to eat that didn’t taste like expired batteries (not that he’s eaten batteries before, or knows if they can expire). As Hop busied himself with his breakfast and silence—a comfortable silence in contrast to the awkward one that had befallen upon them less than a minute ago—filled the kitchen once again, Mary took the opportunity to excuse herself.

“I hate to cut our conversation short,” she apologised, her voice sweet and polite as she stood up and adjusted her glasses, “but I have duties to attend to back at home. I’ll see you later, Millie.”

Camellia chuckled. “Of course.”

“You too, Leon.”

Leon nodded in acknowledgement, a gentle smile adorning his lips. Mary, however, wasn’t done with her farewells just yet. Her gaze shifted to Victor, who was pretending to snatch Hop’s breakfast, much to the latter’s displeasure. “Victor,” she entoned, successfully grabbing his attention. Her voice was calm and even, but the tone of ‘please, for the love of every deity that’s ever graced this planet, do not set anything on fire’ was not lost on Victor (or Hop, who could recognize that tone from a mile away from personal experience). “Behave.”

“Mom,” Victor responded with a frown, putting a hand on his chest as if he’d been physically and emotionally stabbed, “when have I ever been anything  _ but _ well-behaved? I’m an exemplar child; a true role model!”

Hop nearly choked on his food.

Mary raised a questioning brow. She placed her hands on her hips with an expectant gaze, and Victor, who’d learned the hard way that you can’t outwit your parents, hesitantly relented, lowering his head and muttering, “...I’ll behave.”

“Good.”

Mary’s amused yet skeptical smile mellowed into one of fondness. She quickly rounded the table and leaned down to plant a quick kiss on Victor’s head—or, more accurately, his hat. “Love you, sweetie,” she murmured.

Victor looked like he was going to protest against the embarrassing public display of affection like most children—and by ‘most children’ they meant Hop—did but, surprisingly, he didn’t, taking both Hop and Mary aback. “Love you too, mom,” he responded, leaning into her touch for a brief moment before pulling back and looking away. This did not take away the meaning from the gesture, however, and that was something that she knew all too well.

“Don’t worry.” Leon flashed her an overconfident smile. Unlike the grin he’d spent years rehearsing for the cameras and spectators, this one was genuine. “I’ll keep these two out of trouble.”

Mary chuckled heartily. If there was something that never failed to entertain her in this life, it was naive optimism. She made her way out of the kitchen, but not before walking over to Leon and gently patting him on the shoulder, her gaze simultaneously thankful and pitying. The kind of gaze you give to a callow soldier who is being shipped off to fight a war they didn’t sign up for but believe they can win. They may be ultimately doing a good deed, but you do feel sorry for them nonetheless. “Godspeed.”

And with that said, she was off.

Leon wasn’t sure why, but he started feeling a looming sense of dread.

After Mary was gone, the four of them had a brief moment of peaceful silence before it was ruined once again by half of the troublemaker duo, Victor, who now felt free to become unhinged once his mother was out of hearing range. “Come on, Hop,” he said, standing up from his chair and bouncing on his toes, hoping to be able to let out hours of repressed energy before he imploded. “Let’s go outside!”

“Let me finish my cheese toastie first.”

“...Finish your  _ what?” _

Hop raised an eyebrow, unsure if the question was tongue-in-cheek. He waved his half-eaten sandwich in the air. “This.”

“Oh!” Victor exclaimed, his eyes lighting up in recognition. “You mean grilled cheese.”

“No, I mean cheese toastie.”

“No, no. You see—” Victor closed his eyes patiently, his voice tone more suited for a university lecturer debating a serious matter than a young boy arguing with his friend about the proper term for a common food, “—that's a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“We call them cheese toasties.”

Victor looked like the entire nation of Galar had personally slighted him. “What the hell is wrong with this region?”

“Language,” Leon and Camellia scolded. Hop wasn’t sure how they managed to speak in perfect synchrony, and that scared him to no end. Perhaps the urge to scold a child for daring to say an ‘impolite’ word was instinctive in adults. It had happened to him enough times to be considered a serious hypothesis.

“Right, sorry,” Victor corrected himself, clearing his throat in the same manner that Hop had done less than a few minutes ago. “What the hell’s wrong with this language?”

Hop’s patience was stretched beyond the capabilities of a regular human’s and he put what remained of his cheese toastie down with enough force to make the plate shake. “Wow, would you look at that. I’m finished.” He definitely wasn’t, but he’d be willing to sacrifice the rest of his breakfast if it meant this painful exchange would be over. “Let’s go.”

“Finally!”

Victor pumped his fist in the air, excited, and immediately started dragging Hop out the door before he could even get out of his seat on his own. The pokémon, having finished their breakfast, noticed the commotion and followed eagerly. Leon watched them leave with a wistful smile and a shake of his head, remembering a time when he also had the luxury of capering about without having to bear the burden of being an adult with responsibilities, like signing autographs and finding his way through places and attending dull meetings meant to address his inability to find his way through places.

Leon’s eyes met his mother’s and they both chuckled, basking in the sweet, sweet tranquility. It was good to enjoy it while it lasted. The two of them simply sat there for a few seconds, quietly sipping on their drinks as the clock mounted on the wall filled in the silence with its rhythmical ticking, indicating the passing seconds.

_ Hopefully nothing bad will happen today. _

Leon knew that, considering Hop and Victor’s borderline chaotic nature and knack for mischief, this was wishful thinking on his part, but he could dream. As he finished his drink and enjoyed the silence, however, he slowly came to notice that the sense of dread he’d been experiencing before had yet to pass, the nerve-wracking yet well-dressed anxiety tugging at his guts as he fiddled with his now empty cup in restlessness. If his mother had noticed his fidgeting, she did not comment on it, now focusing on gathering the plates and silverware for cleaning. Leon couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he had a feeling that something terrible was going to happen eventually, and he had no idea why or how or when.

But maybe it was just his imagination.

Everything would be fine.

It’d be  _ fine... _

...Right?

**_. . ._ **

“You know,” Hop nonchalantly noted as they reached the back garden in record time, Victor’s grip on his wrist still firm. “Usually I’m the one dragging you everywhere.”

Victor paused for a moment, realizing the position they’d found themselves in. He cracked a smile at the irony of it all. It truly seemed like the roles had been switched; Victor never would’ve imagined himself taking the initiative in any sort of situation, since Hop was usually the one confident (read: dumb) enough to suggest potential activities for the day, yet here he was, having just dragged Postwick’s most energetic inhabitant out of his chair and out the door before he’d even finished breakfast. Victor chuckled, letting go of Hop’s wrist. “So the tables have turned, after all.”

“Not for long,” Hop said, “sleep with an eye open tonight.”

“You say that as if I’ll manage to sleep after hearing such an ominous threat.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

The conversation petered out, a comfortable silence taking its place. With nothing else to do, Hop made his way to the stone fence that surrounded the property and took a seat on the ground, pressing a hand to the fence to support himself. Hop was surprised to find it cool to the touch, but perhaps he shouldn’t have been; the nights in Postwick were quite chilly by themselves, and that only doubled whenever it rained. After a second or two of sitting quietly on the grass and staring at the bright sky—with not a single cloud to be seen—above him, Hop heard Victor shuffle, his footsteps coming closer and closer until he’d also reached the stone fence, leaning down to sit next to him. And with that, they’d returned to their positions from the day before. This time, however, there was no sizzling meat or adult conversation in the background to serve as white noise, only the sounds of birds periodically flapping their wings and their pokémon frolicking about carelessly.

Hop closed his eyes. Despite the multiple adventures he’d been in, all of the trouble he’d managed to get himself and Victor into, he never lost the ability to appreciate the occasional quietude in between it all; the mundanity of life; the little details.

“...What now?”

Hop’s eyes snapped open again, the quietude he was hoping to relish now gone, and turned to face the source of the disturbance: Victor. It took his brain a surprisingly long time to process the question, and his very coherent answer (or lack thereof) reflected that perfectly. “Hm?”

“Usually we’d be going out in a day like this,” Victor elaborated, his eyes wandering to a different corner of the garden for a moment before focusing on his friend again. “You know, running, climbing, exploring. I’m surprised you haven’t already announced our plans for the day without asking for my input.”

That… was a valid point.

“Oh.” Hop blinked, looking sheepish. He’d forgotten that they had, as one could call it, a ‘schedule’, which could be more accurately described as a very torn calendar that’d been haphazardly pieced together with low-quality glue and pound shop gum. “I… I don’t really feel like doing anything today.”

The two of them sat in silence for a second or five, neither of them breaking eye contact, before Victor’s hand flew to Hop’s forehead. Hop stirred in alarm for a moment, the instinctive part of his brain urging him to move out of the way lest he get smacked, but the action didn’t actually hurt at all. The mild spike in adrenaline, however, was still there. “Are you sick?” Victor asked, dumbfounded. It was only then that Hop realised that he was mimicking taking his temperature, which was stupid and futile because hands make for horrible thermometers. “Should I take you to the hospital?”

Hop waved his hand away much like one would try to whack a persistent insect mid-air. “Is it that hard to believe I want to relax once in a while?”

“I didn’t even know you  _ had _ the ability to relax. I thought you were born without it or something.”

“Usually I’d feel offended, but that’s a fair assessment of my character.”

Victor puffed his chest, looking smug. “Of course it is! I’ve known you for years.”

“...We’ve known each other for two months.”

“And those two months felt like twenty years.”

Hop raised a brow, unsure of what to make of this. He’d also come to realise this conversation was getting so off-track that he could barely remember what the initial topic was about. That was such a common occurrence that he didn’t have it in him to steer them back to the right direction; or maybe he just didn’t care. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“I’ll let you decide that one,” Victor responded in a singsong voice tone. That answered absolutely nothing.

“How dare—”

Hop got interrupted before he could even begin to formulate the sentence.

“Wait! Shush!” Victor’s eyes lit up as a sudden realization set in, his gaze shifting between his friend and their pokémon in contemplation. Hop could practically see the gears turning in his head. He could’ve complained about the interruption, which had indeed been very rude on Victor’s part, but he was admittedly curious to know what his spontaneous epiphany was about. “We’re missing something.”

“A few brain cells, perhaps?” Hop responded in jest.

“Usually yes, but not this time!” Victor briskly rose to his feet, standing before Hop with his chest puffed in pride whilst sporting the confidence of a caffeinated show host. Hop found his enthusiasm rather adorable. “You have a pokémon, and  _ I _ have a pokémon,” he started matter-of-factly, pausing for a moment as if to let that statement sink in. Hop did have an idea of where he was going with this, but he wanted to hear Victor himself say it. Noticing the lack of an answer on Hop’s part, Victor continued, hoping to be able to salvage his dramatic presentation, “Do you know what this means?”

Hop put a hand on his chin, pretending to think. It wouldn’t hurt to humour his friend. And finally, after humming in exaggerated reflection, he settled on an answer. “We can set things on fire more easily.”

Victor visibly deflated, losing momentum. “What? No!” There was a brief moment of silence. “I mean, yes—” he conceded, looking defeated for a second, but managing to bounce back just as quickly, “—but  _ no. _ It means we’re pokémon trainers. You know what pokémon trainers do?”

Another hum, another look of contemplation.

“Wear tacky clothes and brag incessantly.”

Victor’s hopes for getting through this conversation with both his patience and sanity intact were being chipped apart bit by bit. “I’m starting to think you’re intentionally missing the point.”

“You know me too well,” Hop said, looking proud of himself.

Victor sighed. Perhaps a more direct approach was in order. “Pokémon trainers battle each other,” he explained slowly, as if talking to a stubborn toddler, which seemed like an appropriate comparison considering this was exactly how it felt like. Getting caught up in the new and foreign excitement of the realization that he had a pokémon, and was now a trainer, Victor struck a pose and dramatically pointed a finger at Hop, narrowing his eyes. “Which means… Hop Harley-Wyver, I challenge you to a Pokémon Battle!”

Victor had expected Hop to share his excitement, as his competitive nature would usually compel him to boast about all the ways he’d wipe the floor with anyone that dared challenge him but, surprisingly, that’s not how things went. Hop simply gave Victor a puzzled stare.

“...Right now?”

“For fuck’s sake— yes, Hop, right now!”

And then, out of the blue, Hop’s demeanor did a complete one-eighty. He rose to his feet, calmly dusting his jacket and pants off with his palms. Victor was going to repeat himself, but he got cut off before he even had the chance to open his mouth.

“I admire your enthusiasm, Vic—” Hop said, keeping his eyes on the ground as he shifted into Expert Mode, although using the same voice tone one would adopt to casually discuss the weather, “—but we’re missing a few things. First, we don’t have any healing items on us; if our pokémon get hurt in battle, which they most likely will, we won’t be able to help them. Second, we need a referee to oversee our battle given that none of us has ever battled before. And these are only the basics.”

_ Arceus. _

The sudden, unprompted lecture nearly gave Victor whiplash. He was familiar with Hop’s fervid rambles regarding pokémon and battling, but none of them had ever been this coherent and well thought out; they’d been more akin to a very excited kindergartener spouting fun facts they learned in class to anyone that would listen rather than a professional declaiming years of research to an eager audience. In fact, Hop’s words were borderline automatic, as if he was reciting from a book, which did lead Victor to wonder how hard the basics of battling had been drilled into his head. But perhaps the most frustrating thing was that  _ he was right, _ and that wasn’t a thing that he (or anyone) was used to admitting.

“Do you even know Hibiscus’s moves?”

Victor sputtered, trying to think of something on the fly. “Um,  _ um… _ Stick Attack...?”

“...That’s not even a real move,” Hop said. Victor’s complete and utter inability to bullshit under pressure never failed to amuse him.

“How would  _ you _ know?” Victor asked, crossing his arms and desperately trying to save the remnants of his already bruised dignity. Hop said nothing in response, simply raising an eyebrow. His silence spoke for itself. After a few seconds of obstinately staring at each other, with neither of them willing to budge first, Victor finally conceded, admitting defeat. “Fine, fine. I see your point. That was… surprisingly insightful.”

Hop blinked, as if snapping from a trance.

Oh.

“When you’re the son of two great pokémon trainers, you learn how things work real fast.” Either via observation or because they hammer it into your head enough times for the words to become predictable and stale. Hop wasn’t surprised that he’d managed to recite his fathers’ battling advice nearly word-by-word with perfect precision considering he would be able to do so in his sleep, but perhaps he should’ve clued Victor on this. Alas, he found out the hard way that Hop’s knowledge went far deeper than a casual spectator’s.

“Well,” Victor said with newfound enthusiasm, choosing to remain optimistic, “that just means we’ll have to get those things ourselves! Your dad can be a referee, can’t he?”

Hop pondered on the suggestion. It wasn’t a bad idea. Leon was obviously an expert in battles and he could give them—more specifically Victor—some insight on how a regular battle would work, besides the fact that he must know Hibiscus and Spitfire’s moves considering he was the one who had them in hand before offering them to him and Victor as gifts. However, Hop wasn’t at all looking forward to it due to the fact that, to put it mildly, his dad had a tendency to ramble about anything battle-related. Not that Hop didn’t (it seemed like a hereditary trait), but at least he didn’t repeat his rambles once a week. Still, Leon was their only option right now...

In the end, Hop settled on an answer.

“I suppose he could if he agrees. We can ask him later.”

“Ask whom what?”

_ “Arceus—!” _

Hop jumped, spinning on his heels and putting some distance between him and the source of the unexpected sound, which happened to be his father. Leon watched his son leap away from him with genuine confusion followed by mild amusement. Hop allowed himself to relax once he noticed that there was no danger, and he deflated at the unfortunate realization that his father, who did not have a single stealthy bone in his body, had somehow managed to not only sneak up on him but  _ startle _ him as well. His ego may never recover. Leon’s amusement didn’t waver one bit, but he put on a face of concern nonetheless.

“Ah, sorry. Did I scare you, kiddo?”

Hop recovered quickly, bouncing back from his embarrassment with the same agility of a purrloin being dropped in a cold body of water. He casually ran a hand through his hair, acting as if nothing had happened. “Course not, I just thought it’d be cool to randomly start praying for our lord and saviour. You know how it is.”

“I believe you,” Leon said, lying through his teeth. “Now, what were you two talking about? I could sense your enthusiasm from the kitchen.”

Victor, who’d been watching the admittedly entertaining interaction in silence until now, remembered what they’d been discussing less than half a minute ago and immediately piped up, running to stand at Hop’s side. “Mr. Leon, please be the referee for our Pokémon Battle!”

Leon’s eyes immediately lit up.

“A Pokémon Battle?” he asked, his voice holding a nostalgic fondness that Hop immediately recognized without even trying; a nostalgia for his first Pokémon Battle, for when he’d first started his journey, for a simpler time. He, naturally, also rambled about that a lot. “How could I refuse?”

“Quite easily,” Hop responded without thinking, only realizing how passive-aggressive the sentence sounded once the words had already left his mouth. It was funny to think that, despite having learned to keep his mouth shut to avoid saying things that would probably follow him forever—as the child of two celebrities, being scrutinised by the public in all aspects of his life was not uncommon—he just couldn’t resist the urge of speaking before weighing in the consequences of his words. It was a good thing this was, in the grand scheme of things, inconsequential, but still...

Both Leon’s and Victor’s gazes turned to him, and Hop struggled not to recoil like a wounded creature at the attention, already having recognized his stupidity and knowing that he might ruminate on it in the future. He wasn’t sure why he felt so nervous over this. He said stupid things all the time, intentional or not, but this somehow felt  _ different, _ although he couldn’t quite put his finger on it...

Hop could feel their eyes boring into him, even though their stares weren’t at all judgemental, leaning more towards confusion than anything.

Leon asked, “Do you not want to battle, Hop?” His tone wasn’t accusing or suspicious or in any way negative. It was a casual question, akin to asking someone if they’d like some water during a visit. You can’t have a Pokémon Battle with unwilling participants, after all. It is common sense.

And Hop  _ wasn’t _ unwilling.

“No, no, I’m in,” he replied with a shrug that he was hoping would come across as casual, and immediately remembered what he’d told Victor before, “but what if our pokémon get hurt?”

Leon hummed, seemingly not having put much thought on that question either, too excited at the prospect of witnessing and playing an important role in a first battle; a rite of passage for many trainers around the globe. His eyes rounded the place, searching for something—what, exactly, Hop wasn’t sure—before he made his way to a specific part of the garden near the shed, bending down near a basket full of round little berries that his mother, ever the gardener, had planted herself. He picked up two of them and returned quickly, presenting the blue-colored berries to Victor and Hop. “We’ll give them these oran berries so they can get their energy back.”

Victor nodded, excited that things were moving along smoothly. “Sounds like a plan!”

Leon straightened his posture, carrying himself much like a professional referee would. His voice was even, but Hop and Victor could both feel the barely contained excitement in his words. “Now, which pokémon will you choose as your partner in your first battle as trainers?”

_ This is it. _

It wasn’t even a choice for Victor, considering he only had one pokémon so far, but the thought that this was really happening elated him nonetheless.

“Hibiscus, come here,” he called. It only took a few seconds for the grookey to acknowledge the call and make her way to her trainer’s side. Victor got on one knee so he could properly look her in the eye. It was quite a sight to behold. “Wanna help me destroy Hop?” His voice tone was low and hushed, as if he was conspiring with a trusted confidant, but Hop had heard it anyway; not that it mattered. Hibiscus chirped joyfully, always happy to help, her tail swishing from side to side in anticipation. Victor chuckled, patting her head fondly. “I knew I could trust you.”

He got up again, and Hop could see a fire in his eyes that he’d never seen before. Victor turned to him, noticing he had yet to move, opting to watch the two of them instead. “So, Hop?”

Hop blinked, realizing he had a choice to make.

Victor only had one pokémon, and he had two. A two-on-one battle at this stage felt unfair, so he had to pick one of his two pokémon as his battle partner. Ignoring everything else that went into a battle, such as type matchups and strategies, either pick would be basically the same seeing as neither Mimzy nor Spitfire had ever battled before. Hop whistled to get their attention. Mimzy was the first one to notice the signal, her ears twitching as she promptly rolled into a ball and headed towards his direction, Spitfire following shortly after. Hop braced himself to be tackled to the ground  _ again, _ but it seemed like Mimzy was feeling generous that day as she stopped right before him instead of turning herself into a living bowling ball for the umpteenth time that month. Spitfire stopped by her side, looking at her trainer expectantly.

Hop eyed the two of them back and forth, feeling stuck.

On one hand, Spitfire was the obvious choice from a tactical perspective; she had the type advantage over Mimzy’s neutral attacks, and she looked like she was itching for some action, jumping from foot to foot in an impressive display of stamina. On the other hand, Mimzy was Hop’s first partner, and had been his only pokémon for the longest time—just him and her against the world. It felt like an impossible choice. Looking into Mimzy’s eyes, however, Hop noticed that it seemed like she was willing to let Spitfire steal the spotlight for the time being, more interested in chasing after Leon’s shy sobble, Morpheus, who was watching the interaction from the sidelines in apparent confusion.

Hop sighed, having made his choice.

Much like Victor had done before, he got down on one knee and ran his hand through Mimzy’s soft wool, minding the horns. He already knew the answer he’d receive, but he wanted to confirm it anyway for his own peace of mind. “Sorry, Mimzy, you’ll have to sit out for this one, is that okay?” Mimzy licked his hand, leaning into his touch. Hop had known her long enough to know what this meant.

He gave her one last pat. “Good girl.”

Mimzy bleated, content, as she rolled away. She was, indeed, a very good girl.

With that dealt with, Hop turned to his remaining pokémon, the energetic little furball who did her name justice: Spitfire. She bounced on her feet eagerly, her paw pads leaving heat prints on the grass. Hop couldn’t help but admire her fervor, the willingness to leap straight into action at the cost of her own well-being. “Spitfire,” he said, noticing how her ears perked up almost immediately, “you ready for some action?”

Spitfire jumped up and down, the fire in her eyes burning brighter than ever before.

_ Hell yes. _

Hop rose to his feet and turned to Leon and Victor, both of whom were staring at him expectantly. He nodded. “We’re ready.”

Victor whooped loudly, ecstatic, and the sheer abruptness of the action made Leon jump in alarm. Hop grinned at the sight, glad that his father got his comeuppance for having done the exact same thing to him moments earlier. The fact that he and Leon locked eyes after the incident only made this all the better. After being forced to acknowledge the irony of the situation, Leon ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat, both to get the boys’ attention and to regain his composure.

“Alright,” he said, remembering there was one more step that needed to be completed before they could get to the best part, “now that everything’s set, there’s one last thing you need to know.” Leon snatched his Rotom-phone from his pocket, the small creature inside of it blinking and buzzing lazily as if it’d been awoken from its nap. Only a few taps and Leon found what he was looking for. “Victor, Hibiscus’s moves are Scratch, Growl, and Branch Poke.”

Victor turned to Hop, looking thoroughly vindicated. “I told you Stick Attack was a move!”

Hop just rolled his eyes, not even bothering to dignify that with an answer. Leon ignored them both, continuing to browse through his Rotom-phone’s database in search for the other pokémon’s moveset as if nothing had happened. He really wanted to get this over with while he still could. “Hop, Spitfire’s moves are Tackle, Growl, and Ember.”

“I experienced that last one first-hand.”

Leon, understanding what his son was alluding to but not knowing how to respond, slid his phone back inside his pocket, allowing the rotom inside to resume its rest. He then placed one hand on his hip in what one would assume was a carefree stance, but his excitement was palpable. “Alright, you four, get in your positions.”

Hop motioned for Spitfire to follow him as he led them to one end of the battle mat they had in the back garden. It was somewhat dirty and worn from having been there for more than two decades with little to no maintenance, leaving it exposed to the elements, not counting the fact that using it sped up the aging process significantly. Even so it was still perfectly usable, and that was all that really mattered right now. Victor placed himself and Hibiscus at the opposite end, looking more than ready to test his abilities in live combat; after all, he’d only ever seen Pokémon Battles on the telly, and he could only imagine what being a part of one would be like.

Leon, who’d been chosen as the referee, placed himself at the side of the mat, a few steps away yet square in the middle so he could get a better view of the match without risking being caught in the crossfire; all stadiums in the Galar region had protective barriers that prevented the spectators from being hurt by flying debris and attacks gone awry, as per regulation, but casual battles were wildcards. It was not unusual for the trainers themselves to get hurt when battling. Thankfully, as it stood, this seemed unlikely to happen in this scenario. Probably.

_ Here’s hoping. _

Hop analysed Hibiscus carefully while they waited for Leon to initiate the battle, throwing the obvious type matchups aside to focus on the strategic aspect of things.

All of the grookey’s attacking moves were short distance so far, and Spitfire had Ember, a long distance move. This gave them a huge advantage. Staying far from the enemy meant they had more leeway with their moves while having less chances of being attacked back, and Hibiscus having to get close to attack to begin with was yet another blessing; it meant that, if they kept their distance, none of her moves would hit Spitfire at all. Not to mention the fact that Hibiscus carried a very flammable piece of wood around. He’d have to keep that in mind; anything could be a turning point in a battle, even the most mundane details. Raihan’s words echoed in the back of his mind, clear as day.

_ ‘If you find a weakness, exploit it.’ _

Alright.

“This will be a one-on-one match,” Leon explained, sounding exactly like an official referee, “and the battle will end when one of your pokémon is no longer able to fight.” He paused, waiting for Hop and Victor to confirm that they understood the rules, which to Hop seemed rather pointless considering how simple they were. That meant that Leon was either being cautious or he didn’t believe in their intellectual prowess, which was fair. They nodded nonetheless. “The battle will start in three, two… now!”

It was time.

Hop opened his mouth to shout out a command, a million strategies running through his head, but Victor beat him to the punch. “Hibiscus, use Growl!”

Hibiscus, understanding this was her cue, let out a shrill cry that rang throughout the area and echoed in the distance. It was nothing mind-blowing, especially considering she wasn’t all that big and powerful compared to the pokémon seen on the telly, but it was definitely an uncomfortable sound to hear; like a small, high-pitched siren on four legs. Hop couldn’t imagine what the experience was like for Spitfire, whose hearing was undoubtedly more attuned than his. She did seem to be affected for a moment, but snapped out of it almost as soon as the cry stopped, ready to retaliate.

Huh, it seemed like Victor was also opting to use a strategy instead of just attacking blindly. A lot of beginners favoured doing as much damage as possible over crafting a suitable strategy, deeming them to be a waste of time when you can just pummel your opponents into submission instead. That would surely spice things up a bit. However, Hop, in his infinite wisdom about pokémon moves that he definitely wasn’t semi-coerced into learning, knew that the usage of Growl was practically worthless when it came to a scorbunny.

“Aw, that’s cute. Spitfire, Ember!”

“Dodge!”

Hibiscus leapt to the left in the nick of time, and Spitfire’s attack just barely grazed her tail. The small burst of flames landed on the mat, eventually dying out and leaving a burn mark. Hibiscus retreated to the other end of the field, tense and alert. Things were starting to get serious.

“You can’t dodge forever, Vic,” Hop remarked casually while he debated on what his next course of action should be. So far, being on the offensive seemed to be their best bet. Hibiscus was already cornered, unable to attack without risking being injured twice as much in return. They had the advantage. Still, Hop remained on guard in case the tides turned; it’s never good to count your pokémon before they’re caught. “Spitfire, Ember!”

Victor, who seemed rather intent on trying to prove to Hop that you can, in fact, dodge forever, ordered, “Dodge!”

And, once again, Hibiscus successfully dodged another attack.

They seemed to be going in circles. Spitfire would strike and Hibiscus, with no other choice, would dodge, and they were probably going to repeat this waltz over and over until either one of them changed strategies or one of Spitfire’s attacks hit. Hop didn’t want to waste his scorbunny’s energy and tire her out before the match was even over, so he decided that it was for the best to alter his strategy a bit. What could he do, though? As Hop’s eyes rounded the garden in hopes that an answer might miraculously come to him, his gaze landed on Hibiscus’s stick once again.

A weakness.

It was time for a new plan.

“Spitfire, use Growl!”

Spitfire turned to him for a second, confused as to why he’d rather use a non-offensive move over a damaging one when they already had the upper hand, but obeyed nonetheless. She trusted her trainer to have a good reason for the change of plans. Her piercing shriek echoed throughout the garden, making Hop cover his ears in pain. He wasn’t sure if Spitfire was naturally louder than Hibiscus or if just being closer to her gave him that illusion, but it wasn’t a pleasant experience either way. Hibiscus winced, clenching her palms into tiny fists and refusing to show weakness. Hop admired her willpower.

The move had accomplished its purpose, but not in the way anyone would think. When he chose to use a non-damaging move, Hop had broken the chase cycle, stepping back from the ceaseless attacking and placing himself on the defensive instead, just where he wanted to be. He tried to make it look accidental, a small fluke in his otherwise flawless plan, but it wasn’t.

He was really,  _ really _ hoping this would work.

“Oh, how the tables turn, Vic,” Hop taunted, hoping to rile his friend-turned-rival up a bit. Opponents driven by competitiveness would sometimes be unable to think straight, blinded by their need to win at all costs, and Hop didn’t want Victor to see through his actions and figure out his strategy.

“Hush,” Victor responded, his voice monotone, seemingly tired of hearing Hop’s pointless commentary when he was trying to concentrate. Seeing that he now had a chance to move to the offensive, he yelled, “Hibiscus, Branch Poke!”

“Dodge!”

And thus, just like that, the roles had been reversed. The stick that Hibiscus kept in between her leaf-shaped hair tufts was now a weapon as she used it to try and whack her opponent in the head, hoping to cause as much damage as possible while she still could. Her movements were admittedly slow compared to Spitfire’s, both because Spitfire was naturally faster than her and because of the effects of the Growl attack from earlier having possibly messed with her coordination. Hop had only used the move as a foil, but it had been genuinely helpful in aiding his pokémon’s evasiveness. Spitfire stepped out of the way before Hibiscus had the chance to land her attack, stepping close to the end of the mat in a defensive stance.

Victor looked smug, believing he’d changed the course of the battle to his favour. “Oh, what did you say about the tables turning again?” He didn’t give Hop a chance to respond, jumping straight to his next move; less stalling meant less chances for the opponent to get away. “Hibiscus, use Branch Poke again!”

Hop opened his mouth to order Spitfire to dodge again, but decided against it. He’d done enough, and now the opportunity he’d been working towards was presented to him on a silver platter. He couldn’t waste it.

There would be no second chances.

Hibiscus was closing the distance between herself and her opponent fairly quickly, stick in hand and ready to pounce. It seemed like she’d already shaken off the effects from Spitfire’s Growl, bouncing back with renewed energy and determination to win. Noticing the lack of commands on her trainer’s part, Spitfire’s eyes locked with Hop’s for a brief moment. Her gaze then frantically alternated between him and the oncoming threat as if to say,  _ “aren’t you going to do something about this?” _ It seemed like she wasn’t very keen on being thwacked in the head by a piece of wood, which was understandable.

Hop gave his partner a curt yet confident nod, silently begging her to trust his judgement. There was a reason for everything he was doing, and he wouldn’t let her down; or, at the very least, he would try. Spitfire nodded back, all of her doubts gone, preparing herself to charge at a moment’s notice. Meanwhile, Hop watched Hibiscus’s movements meticulously, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. They had a very narrow window of time to act: too far and she’d be able to see through their actions and dodge; too close and she would outspeed them. He needed to be precise in his analysis. He just needed Hibiscus to be close enough.

Closer.

Just a little more.

Almost there...

_...Now! _

With adrenaline rushing through his veins and his anxiety skyrocketing, Hop cried out, “Spitfire, use Ember to your right!”

Spitfire obeyed without hesitating, gulping a large amount of air through her mouth and puffing out her chest in what a bystander would assume to be an attempt to make herself seem bigger to the opponent even though that wasn’t quite right. As the battle approached its climax, Hop could sense that her adrenaline was running high, much like his, and the fact that he’d made her wait in anticipation without an explanation only intensified her need to act. With the speed of a lightning bolt crossing the sky in a thunderstorm, Spitfire—true to her name—spat the biggest burst of flames Hop had ever seen come out of a pokémon of her size, and she aimed it at Hibiscus’s direction, although not directly  _ at _ her.

Exactly as Hop had instructed.

Hibiscus had been too close to dodge at that point. The blazing projectile collided with her stick, the one she was going to use as a weapon, and set it alight. It took her a moment to acknowledge the fact that she hadn’t been hit by the attack, and did seem relieved for a fraction of a second before the realisation that her stick was the one affected set in and all semblance of gratitude and composure was gone. Suddenly panicking, Hibiscus started waving the stick around in hopes of extinguishing the fire, not knowing that the action was useless at best and worsening her situation at worst, the fire only growing bigger and bigger by the second.

Victor, who hadn’t seen this coming and had no idea what to do, tried to salvage the situation anyway. “Hibiscus— um, use—”

Hop didn’t give him an opportunity to finish that train of thought. “Spitfire, finish this with another Ember!”

“Hibiscus, watch out! Dodge!”

Despite Victor’s valiant efforts to warn his pokémon of the imminent danger she was failing to take notice of, it was no use. To Hibiscus the battle was long forgotten as her trainer’s words fell on deaf ears, all of her focus solely directed to the burning piece of wood she was now swinging around; she was too distracted and agitated to pay attention to her surroundings. Her guard was down, leaving her vulnerable, and that’s exactly what Hop had been counting on.

Swallowing yet another large gulp of air, Spitfire shifted all of her energy into this next attack and spat out one last ball of flames that was equally as big as the previous one, if not bigger, and aimed it at poor, poor Hibiscus, who’d apparently forgotten she was in a battle and had absolutely no idea of the threat that was rapidly approaching. Once she took her eyes off the fire that she’d been trying to extinguish for a brief moment and realized there was a meteor-esque projectile hurtling towards her direction it was too late to dodge or minimise the damage in any way. Hop could see the pure fear in her eyes as the attack hit her at full speed. In fact, the impact was so strong that the subsequent explosion sent her flying to the other end of the mat.

Hop watched as Hibiscus was propelled backwards in mere seconds, simultaneously horrified and impressed, not having known until now that a simple Ember could deal so much damage. Victor watched, equally as horrified as Hop, as his partner landed right before his feet after being flung at his direction like an astray frisbee in a minefield. They both waited silently, locked in place and with bated breaths, as they waited for Hibiscus to regain consciousness and get up at any minute.

Hop heard a distinctive bleating in the distance, followed by something wet hitting the ground. He couldn’t quite tell, feeling as if time had stopped. The silence was deafening and his ears were ringing.

She lied, there, unmoving.

There was a muffled thud. The sound of hooves scraping against wet grass. A flap of wings above them, then two, growing farther and farther, fading in the distance.

She wasn’t getting up.

_ Silence. _

Hop’s breath hitched as he felt his heart leap to his throat, being faced with the earth-shattering realisation that he might have seriously injured her, or even… Arceus, what if he k—

“Hibiscus,” Victor said, his voice calm and even, perfectly suited for someone asking their neighbour for a cup of sugar during a warm summer morning, as well as someone at the beginning stages of catatonia, “get up.”

A pause.

“Please.”

The adrenaline of the battle quickly wore off and pure, unbridled dread took its place as Hop rushed to where the grookey now lied, her body limp and unmoving. Combat rules be damned—he didn’t care one bit that you weren’t supposed to intervene in a battle in progress until the referee announced its end; not when a pokémon’s life was at stake. Hop had to make sure she was okay; if not for her, then for his own peace of mind. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if she wasn’t. And yet, despite moving as fast as he possibly could, it felt as if he were walking through an ocean of molasses, his steps heavy and clumsy. Spitfire followed him, just as shaken, but Hop didn’t notice, too busy drowning in his own panic.

_ Please don’t be dead, _ he begged, unsure of who he was talking to and unable to bring himself to care,  _ please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead. _

“Please…”

Victor felt like he should be moving, like he should be assessing the situation and making sure his pokémon, his beloved partner, was ali—  _ alright, _ that she was alright and well. And yet here he was, doing absolutely nothing. He simply stood there, frozen like a statue, staring at his unconscious pokémon with wide eyes and clenched fists as he urged her to give him a sign of life,  _ anything. _ He wanted to move, he  _ needed _ to move, so why couldn’t he? He needed to move, he needed to move,  _ he needed to move— _

Leon stepped forth.

As soon as it became perfectly clear that Hibiscus was not going to get up unassisted, he abandoned his position as the referee and made his way to where she was lying, getting down on one knee to better determine the gravity and extent of her injuries. The most important thing to note was that she was still breathing, the rise and fall of her chest both rhythmic and visible from where he was standing, which was a good sign. She was merely unconscious. Not an uncommon situation in battles, especially regarding younger, more inexperienced pokémon, the ones who hadn’t built up an endurance regarding moves just yet. With that out of the way, Leon moved onto the injuries themselves.

The most obvious ones were the burn marks, but they appeared to be superficial; first degree, if he had to guess, although not quite as severe. Given that pokémon were much more durable than humans on the physical side, the injuries would heal in a day or so without medical intervention, maybe even less, but Leon always had a few emergency potions stored in Camellia’s house should the need for them arise. It pays to be precautious.

With care and precision, Leon lifted her up from the mat and cradled her in his arms. His movements were gentle yet decisive, bearing the expertise and finality of a trainer who’d been in this situation one too many times, already knowing the actions that must be taken by heart. Leon heard the sound of footsteps approaching, undoubtedly Hop’s, but he pushed the thought aside, shifting all of his focus towards Hibiscus. As far as his knowledge went, this had been her first serious battle. She’d probably wake up a bit shaken or confused, but most pokémon did whenever they were knocked out; she wouldn’t be the first, nor would she be the last.

While he waited for her to come to, Leon remembered there was one last thing he needed to address: Hop and Victor. Their fear was palpable, and Leon couldn’t blame them. First battles were quite nerve-wracking, especially with such an outcome. It was a good thing that they’d chosen him as a referee; walking into the current scenario without context would be much more alarming.

“None of her wounds are serious. She’ll shake it off,” Leon said calmly, hoping to assuage their worries. Hop, Victor, and Spitfire visibly relaxed at the news, glad that nothing serious had occurred. The anxiety was still very much there, and wouldn’t be gone for a while, but at least the dread mixed with guilt was tempered slightly.

And then, right on cue, Hibiscus’s eyes began fluttering open, her tail swishing back and forth slightly as she slowly came to. Being the first one to notice this, as he was the closest to her, Leon offered her one of the oran berries he’d been holding onto, which would help her regain her energy, and she gladly accepted, snatching it from his hands and devouring it with what appeared to be the hunger of a thousand men. Leon turned to Victor, who until recently was frozen like a deerling in the headlights, and beckoned him closer. He offered the poor, frightened boy his pokémon back, and Victor sighed in relief, picking her up into his trembling arms and embracing her in a hug.

Hibiscus nuzzled him in return, still focused on eating her berry. “Arceus, I was so worried,” Victor said to nobody in particular, his voice almost a whisper as all of his emotions spilled out like water from a broken faucet. He buried his face on the tufts of fur atop of her head and refused to let go, his grip gentle yet firm, as if she’d vanish into thin air if he loosened his hold on her ever so slightly.

After all, what if she did? Victor couldn’t bear the thought...

...But then again, could anyone?

Hop stared at them, feeling a pressure building up inside his chest, gripping his heart and squeezing painfully. He wasn’t sure what to do in this situation, how to make this terrible sensation go away, as he’d never experienced anything like it until now—the abject horror of mortality. Not his own, but someone else’s, someone he cared about. Were battles always like this? His parents had never told him anything about it. Everyone he knew, both trainers and fans alike, only waxed lyrical about how wonderful they were. When they said they were thrilling, Hop had not been expecting  _ this _ kind of thrill.

With nothing else to do, as well as feeling both exhausted and restless at the same time, he took a seat next to Victor as the two of them proceeded to then watch Hibiscus eat the berry like it was the most mesmerising thing they’d witnessed all week, even though, in comparison to everything else that had happened in the last five minutes, this was incredibly banal. But they didn’t mind because, after unlocking the full spectrum of all human emotion in one go, banality was mellow and unremarkable and less likely to give them a heart attack.

Hop had been so focused on trying (and mostly failing) to calm his nerves that he almost didn’t notice when Leon placed the other oran berry he had into his hand, his brain processing the action at an incredibly slow pace thanks to the traumatic experience that he surely wouldn’t forget anytime soon, and that’s when he remembered Spitfire. Hop’s eyes widened, whipping his head around so fast that he nearly gave himself whiplash. The feeling of immeasurable guilt rose anew, the sensation heightened by the fact that he was already feeling this way and that was just another layer that was being added on top of the Cake of Regret, and Hop felt ashamed of himself for abandoning her in the midst of his panic.

He offered her the berry with a remorseful expression, which she readily accepted, jumping into his lap for comfort before eating. Hop chuckled lightly, scratching her behind the ear while she leaned into his touch. For just a moment, he felt as if things would be alright.

They’d all be alright.

Seeing as the panic and dread had dwindled into an indescribable sort of silence—barring the sounds of Mimzy and Morpheus obliviously sparring in the background, both of them blocking out everything going on around them—and the heat of the battle came to a close, leaving two slightly traumatised boys and two confused and tired pokémon in its wake, Leon decided this was the best time to reassume his position as the referee and announce the winner. The conclusion had been obvious for everyone involved, but Hop and Victor needed to learn that this was how battles always worked, regardless of the outcome. Besides, the distraction would benefit them.

“Hibiscus is unable to battle,” he announced, carrying himself like a professional would despite the gentleness his voice held. “The victory goes to Hop and Spitfire.”

Hop looked up at his father, just barely registering the sentence. His gaze fell onto his scorbunny as she munched lazily on her berry. His mind felt hazy, but it finally clicked.

He won.

He actually  _ won. _

...Huh.

Hop had always imagined what battling would be like. He’d seen it before, both live and in the telly, and he’d also heard it over and over from his classmates, from his parents, from basically everyone he knew. Heard about the excitement of watching your pokémon fight  _ with _ you and  _ for  _ you, the fervor of the crowd as their cheers thundered across the stadium, the challenge of having to come up with multiple strategies on the spot for every possible scenario. Hop remembered watching his father’s matches and trying to guess his next move before it happened, what kind of strategy he’d come up with and why. He’d often tell his parents what he would’ve done in their situation, how he would’ve won himself, and he received nothing but praise from them for being so creative. Considering how much people talked about them, he always thought that his first battle would be as exciting as theirs, and that his first victory would be electrifying.

How absolutely hilarious that, as of right now, he felt absolutely nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, fun times.
> 
> This is probably my longest chapter yet. Huzzah! I tried to keep it short, but writing the battle sequence took longer than I expected, therefore I had to cut this chapter in two parts. One of the things you learn as a writer is that sometimes your characters develop a mind of their own, and my god does this happen to me a lot. Anyway, hope you enjoyed some good ol' pokémon anime strategies mixed with some good ol' existential dread. A great combo to start the day, if I do say so myself. Speaking of which, I think this is the first time I'm _not_ posting something at midnight. What a miracle!
> 
> Onto the notes! I do have some good ones this chapter:
> 
> — First things first, I’ve made a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3vpIb6fKsJvDMFkfhUakfs) for HLTC! Now you can all judge my mildly questionable taste in music and find out where I’ll be going with this fic (although the tags are a pretty good hint for what’s to come). By the way, not all of the songs pertain to Victor and Hop’s journey, as I’ve also dedicated some to other characters, and you'll also come to find some songs are a lot less straightforward and more symbolic. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! I tried to keep the list of songs short at first but everything I touch becomes long and rambley. I mean, look at this note. I wrote an entire essay just to announce the playlist.
> 
> — Following that, I also have a Discord account, serenatta_operetta#4593. Feel free to add me if you wanna discuss the fanfic, or even just talk about pokémon in general. I'm always happy to make new friends :D
> 
> — If you haven't figured it out yet, I've decided to try and write the battles in a more anime-esque style. I find it charming how Ash comes up with some cool, reasonable strategies sometimes (except for the Thunder Armour, that was bullshit), so I wanted to try and implement that. Besides, it's a good test of creativity on my part lol.
> 
> — Regular Hop and Battle Hop might as well be two different people. Regular Hop has never had a coherent thought in his life and Battle Hop (or as I like to call him, Big Brain Hop) will come up with five different ways to wipe the floor with you and then have an existential crisis about it. But then again, Regular Hop didn't know Battle Hop existed until now, so can you really blame him.
> 
> — I had half a mind to name this chapter 'Big brain time' because of how hilarious that sounds but I wanted to keep the little professionalism I have left so I'll simply use it as Battle Hop's nickname, as mentioned in the note above.
> 
> — Victor has made the mistake of brushing his teeth and drinking orange juice at least twice before. It hasn't lessened his love for orange juice, but it has made him wonder if people are just naturally dumber in the morning.
> 
> — The "Unovan vs Galarian terms for things" squabble between Victor and Hop will hopefully be a thing throughout this fic, so look out for that lmao I sure hope I do it justice.
> 
> Anyway, this is it for today! I'm sorry this is such a long chapter. I tried to keep it short fdsfs you guys can see how that went. Anyway, have a wonderful day!


	7. Following, following, following

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hop Harley-Wyver was not an outlier.

There is something rather cathartic about just lying on the grass while momentarily letting go of your problems; clearing your head from the distressing thoughts that constantly plague your psyche, if you will.

As of right now, Hop was doing neither of those things.

The aftermath of their first battle was surprisingly dull as Hop and Victor waited for their pokémon to regain their energy in silence, with only the sounds of munching and faint shuffling coming from afar to fill the void. Hop wanted to feel a sense of accomplishment, or maybe he was waiting for a sign from the heavens that would indicate that the hollowness within his chest was perfectly normal, something that all trainers went through during their first match. Hop really, really wanted it to be true, even though he knew deep down that it was not and he was only deluding himself, because otherwise that meant there was something wrong with him, that he was broken, and this wouldn’t do.

Hop Harley-Wyver, son of Leon Harley and Raihan Wyver, was not an outlier, nor would he ever be.

This was a normal experience, he told himself. It was only his first battle, the first of many to come, and with time he’d grow to like it, like trying on a pair of new shoes. It was normal, and it was ordinary. _He_ was normal and ordinary.

Hop, for a brief moment, considered later asking his father for guidance. Maybe he _was_ doing something wrong and there was a way to fix it. Leon was an experienced battler, that much was painfully obvious, and he loved giving advice (even if it was sometimes unwanted), so this could be a mutually beneficial interaction to both of them. However, the more he thought about it, the more dread started pooling at the bottom of his stomach. There were so many ways this could backfire on him. What if his pa got offended? What if he thought he didn’t like battling? Hop liked battling. Right? Who didn’t like battling? Everyone liked battling.

…It was fine.

Hop was well used to keeping secrets. This would just be another one to add to the pile.

As things slowly settled and the adrenaline from the match quietly faded into a feeling of serenity, Leon decided to make his presence known by doing the one thing he was famously (or infamously, depending on how close you were to him) known for outside of battling: giving enthusiastic encouragement in the form of long, booming speeches. This time, however, Hop was willing to listen, if only for the sake of trying to get some actual answers out of it.

“I’d like to start by saying I’m very proud of you both,” Leon said. Hop wished he could share the sentiment. “Battling may seem easy on the surface when you’re a spectator, but it’s much more energy consuming than you’d expect, both for you and your pokémon. They’re doing the bulk of the physical aspect of combat, of course, but you as their trainer are also part of the battle, the one they’ll look up to for guidance. There are lots of choices you have to make, variables you have to consider, and risks you have to take. There were a few things I would’ve done differently if I were in your places, but that is the charm of first battles.”

There was a pause. Leon’s gaze softened.

“No matter the outcome, both your partners worked very hard to lead you to victory. In the future, whether you win or lose, keep this in mind. Have faith in them, and they’ll return the favour.”

That… helped. It wasn’t the enlightening answer Hop was so desperately looking for, but it helped put things in a different perspective, one that he hadn’t considered before. This wasn’t just about him. It was also about Spitfire, and she had done a great job. He’d been so busy thinking about himself and his feelings that he didn’t think about her and her feelings. As if on cue, the scorbunny nuzzled against his leg, and Hop was more than glad to give her a scratch behind the ear.

Spitfire and Mimzy.

Hop didn’t deserve them.

But he could change that.

After presumably having gotten bored of sitting cross-legged on the battle mat for five entire minutes, Victor rose to his feet, stretching. Hibiscus stood at his side, looking reinvigorated. If Hop didn’t believe in pokémon’s abilities to miraculously recover from basically anything before, he sure as hell did now. He _wished_ he could eat some fruit and bounce back from being hit by a mini-comet in five minutes.

“Yeah, yeah, I get that,” Victor said in response to Leon. In all honesty, neither of them truly ‘got it’. Discounting the fact that they knew fuck all about actual battling besides watching a lot of professional matches and briefly discussing what would happen if they were trainers themselves, Leon’s speeches about the subject were way too long and repetitive, and, statistically speaking, at least one person was bound to tune him out until it was over. Hop was that person, and Victor had come to realise that he was _also_ that person. Birds of a feather did flock together after all.

Once he was done stretching and pretending to have learned anything from this experience, Victor turned to Hop with a grin that the latter recognised all too well. The shift back to his regular demeanor was nearly instantaneous. “I was very close to beating you.” He really wasn’t, Hop noted, but that was neither here nor there. “You only won because Saturn’s in retrograde and it unbalances my chakra during the full moon.”

“What full moon? It’s ten in the morning.”

“It’s midnight somewhere.”

As the conversation progressed, Hop allowed himself to relax a little. The nonsensical, dramatic nature of their bickering was weirdly comforting, perhaps due to the familiarity of it. It was a good contrast to that dreadful feeling of facing the new and unknown that battling provided. And it proved itself a good distraction, too. “Sounds like you’re butthurt.”

Victor looked indignated. “It’s a real thing! Look it up!”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Leon, once again, intervened, putting both his hands up as if that would somehow do anything useful besides maybe serve as a flimsy shield. However, given how he had wormed his way into their arguments at least two times these past twenty-four hours (not counting this one) to de-escalate them, it could be confidently stated that his danger detection senses were finely tuned. “Let’s not argue, alright? Both your pokémon did their best. How do you think they feel seeing you squabble like toddlers over this?”

Upon hearing that, Hop and Victor’s gazes wandered to Hibiscus and Spitfire, both of whom looked up at them in return. They looked a bit confused, but nothing more. Even so, both boys still lowered their heads, a sheepish look colouring their faces. “Sorry…”

Whether they were apologising to Leon or their pokémon, it was unclear.

With his legs slowly growing numb from having sat in his current position for so long, Hop decided to follow Victor’s example by standing up, stretching his limbs much like the other had done. Who would’ve guessed that the battle mat, a hard, rubbery surface meant to withstand all sorts of damage and weather conditions, wasn’t as comfortable a place to sit as the soft grass of his grandmother’s garden?

“There’s one thing I don’t understand,” Victor said, his gaze alternating between their pokémon—who were already making their way to Mimzy and Morpheus to join them in their friendly sparring—as something occurred to him. “Why didn’t Hibiscus’s Growl work? Spitfire’s did just fine.”

Leon’s eyes lit up again, seemingly happy at the opportunity to dump more information about battling onto the poor unsuspecting children. “Well, Growl is a move that lowers the target’s _physical attack,_ but Ember is a purely _special move,_ which is why its efficacy wasn’t altered at all.”

“...What?”

“That always confused me too,” Hop told his friend, well used to Leon’s needlessly complicated and detailed explanations. “Just roll with it.”

His father chuckled heartily, his mood having already been lifted. Even though he was a seasoned trainer, his pure excitement towards battling and pokémon in general would surely paint him as a novice to anyone who was none the wiser to his title as the Champion.

“With time and experience you two will learn the difference.” Hop suppressed a wince. Time and experience. He didn’t have the latter, but had lots of the former, and something told him he would have to sacrifice it for the sake of practice. After all, practice makes perfect, and he couldn’t be anything but. “It may sound basic and unimportant for now, but understanding the physical-special split is essential to battling and strategising.”

“Wait.” Victor raised his hand as if he were in a classroom, the presence of an authoritative figure compelling him to do so regardless of who it was. “Does that mean we can join the Gym Challenge?”

“In fact, I...”

Leon trailed off, suddenly realising he’d been interrupted. His cheerful expression shifted into something akin to mild confusion. “Huh?”

“You said _time and experience,”_ Victor pointed out. Hop couldn’t help but feel like he was reading a bit too much into his father’s words. Considering Leon’s facial expression right now, he could tell that he was thinking the same thing. “That has to mean something, right?”

“Ah, I— no, you see, I was being a bit vague with that, it doesn’t—”

Victor raised a single brow. “We gotta battle trainers if we want to gain experience, right? Isn’t that what the Gym Challenge is for?”

Hop didn’t say anything, even though he felt the need to. He had a feeling this idea came from the countless battles they’d watched on the telly. Hop did mention once or twice that strong trainers who received the eight gym badges and won the finals got to challenge his father for the title as Champion, but he never actually explained how difficult it was to get there to begin with, which meant that Victor’s skewed view of the Challenge was partially his fault. Hop understood how he felt, though. Although the battling aspect wasn’t all that appealing to him, travelling the region and discovering new places and pokémon all on their own _did_ seem fun. He loved a good adventure.

And that was where their paths diverged.

Victor wanted experience.

Hop wanted time.

“Ah, that is a common misunderstanding.” Leon nodded, apparently having had the same realisation as Hop. “Although it may seem so, that’s not quite right.”

“But…” Victor, having realised he’d lost his footing in the argument, turned to his friend. “Hop, help me here.”

Oh, how he had been hoping he wouldn’t be dragged into this. “Vic, do you even know how the Gym Challenge works?”

“I can learn!”

“The Gym Challenge is called a challenge for a reason,” Leon explained, back into lecturing mode. Hop sighed internally. He had a feeling that his father wouldn’t say anything he didn’t already know. Despite sounding complicated to those who didn’t grow up around Galar’s unique battling culture, the Gym Challenge was pretty cut and dried once you got accustomed to it. “It’s a very grueling competition that pushes the boundaries of both the trainer and Pokémon; a continuous test of both wit and endurance. Are you sure you’d be willing to participate?”

“Yes,” Victor answered decisively. “Hop would too.”

Goddammit.

“I can speak for myself, you know.” That wasn’t a _no_ per se, and that’s exactly how the others would take it. Just a slightly peeved jab and nothing more. Those destined for greatness don’t have the luxury of denying their fate, for it is already decided for them. Hop was well aware of that, and he knew he would never stop being reminded until he filled his role in this story. But then again...

If a fate is self-imposed, can it really be called fate at all?

“If that’s really what you two want to do, you have a whole lot you need to learn about pokémon,” Leon said. His words helped Hop ground himself. It didn’t sound like his father would endorse them for the Challenge. Not yet. “That type of knowledge is essential in battle.”

“Hop’s already the world’s most annoying encyclopedia, does that not count?”

“Oi.”

Leon chuckled. “Not quite. The most efficient way to learn about pokémon is through the Pokédex.” To demonstrate what he meant, he once again retrieved his phone from his pocket and waved it from side to side. Unlike previously, the rotom inside did not budge in the slightest, sleeping soundly despite the commotion. Hop found it adorable. “A Pokédex helps Trainers learn lots of things about all the Pokémon out there, including their strengths. But it’s more than just a collection of data, you know. It’s a record of a trainer’s love and passion for pokémon training!”

Hop’s lips curled into a fond smile. Those words felt familiar; it was comforting. “You’re starting to sound like Auntie Sunny.”

“Oh, am I?”

“Yeah. She rambles about Pokédexes a lot and you… ramble.”

“I… _ramble?”_ Leon echoed, looking incredulous and slightly offended. Perhaps the fact that he tended to turn the mildest of topics into a motivational speech hadn’t sunk in yet. “About what?”

“A lot of stuff.”

“It’s not rambling, it’s _educating,”_ he said, as if it somehow made a difference. “In fact—”

“Pa.” Hop was well used to this song and dance, and he refused to let it go any further than that. “Please don’t start rambling about how you don’t ramble. We don’t have all day.”

“But—”

“So!” Victor cut them off, impatiently trying to get the conversation back on track. “We need Pokédexes, right?”

Hop nodded, more than happy to switch topics. Everything else aside, the prospect of getting his very own Pokédex was nothing short of thrilling.

The mere fact that there was a software out there that would allow him to uncover a small fraction of the mysteries regarding pokémon fascinated him beyond belief. Most people saw the Pokédex as a simple app for checking facts and details about their own pokémon, but Hop regarded it as a collection of years of observation and researching and cataloguing done by multiple professionals over time crammed into one small device that he could access at any moment if he so desired. Decades of peer reviewed studies at his fingertips, so readily available that it had become commonplace; things that those in the past could only ever dream of having. Hop could freely admit he took a lot of things for granted. Knowledge, however, was not one of those things.

Unfortunately, whenever the subject of acquiring his own Pokédex came up, Auntie Sunny—the one in charge of distributing the app with the approval of Professor Magnolia herself—would always tell him that he would only be granted access when, in her own words, the right time came. At first he’d found the answer intriguing and ominous, if not somewhat exasperating, as if she could somehow predict a special event in which he would be bestowed the gift of infinite knowledge like a demi-god, but as time went on he started realising that she was referencing his road to becoming the Champion, and suddenly it went from mysterious to boring. Nevertheless, he held onto hope that this so-called ‘time’ would come soon.

And at last, after a whopping two years of waiting, here it was. The one good thing to come out of this fiasco. “Looks like it’s off to the Pokémon Research Lab for you and me, Vic.”

Victor pumped his fist in the air, thrilled. “Heck yeah! Road trip!”

“Alright, alright. Calm down, both of you,” Leon said, although Hop could tell by the gleam in his eyes that he was just as excited as them. At least one of them had to be the voice of reason, it seemed. The woes of being an adult. “I’ll call the Professor and let her know to expect you.”

Victor and Hop were both practically vibrating in place from excitement. Their collective energy could easily power up Wedgehurst for two whole days. “Thanks, Mr. Leon!”

“You can drop the formalities, kid.” Leon placed one hand on his hip in a lackadaisical fashion, a fatherly smile adorning his lips. It was a familiar sight, Hop noted; yet another reminder that he hadn’t seen his father for two whole months. He had a sinking feeling this wouldn’t be their longest time apart just yet. “Call me Uncle Lee, or even just Lee. Whichever you prefer.”

Victor nodded, still looking somewhat unsure. Perhaps it was the fact that the Champion was allowing himself to be addressed in such a casual manner. It was something rather unusual amongst Champions—authority figures who were respected far and wide for their sheer strength and skill. “Sure, Uncle Lee.” The words still felt rather foreign on his mouth; it’d take him some time to get used to.

Victor’s eyes widened as something came to him. “Oh, I gotta tell my mom we’re going to the Lab!”

“I’m going with you,” Hop offered. He was already restless as is and Victor was notorious for being the antithesis of what one would consider a particularly fast runner; if they walked to his house together, at least they could keep each other entertained instead of one of them having to wait around while the other went to their own house at a laggard pace.

Speaking of the Research Lab, if they were going to get Pokédexes there was one thing they couldn’t forget to bring: their Rotom-phones. It was the one thing necessary for the installment of the application, obviously. Having to go back to Wedgehurst from Postwick twice because of a simple memory lapse would be a tragedy in itself, and Hop wasn’t sure if Victor would survive the second trip without coughing up a lung or two. He wasn’t a medical professional or anything of the sort but Victor would probably need that in the long run.

“Let’s get our bags first, though. Race ya!” And with that said, Hop bolted towards the house as fast as his legs would allow him to, already putting a sizable distance between himself and Victor while the other processed what had just happened.

“Hey, not fair!”

No matter how much he tried, Victor would never be a match for Hop when it came to speed. Even though they had the same height and build, Hop’s stamina was unparalleled, a result of years of honing his skills as the human equivalent of a bullet train on caffeine. It wasn’t a fair competition in the slightest, but the fact that Victor still put enough effort to try and participate in their races even though he knew he would lose was admirable. Perhaps the fact that Hop would always taunt him about his sluggish pace was what drove him to push himself to his limits, or maybe he was hoping for Arceus to descend from the heavens and bless him with the power of speed. That had yet to happen, unfortunately.

Making it to his room in record time, Hop’s thunderous steps slowly came to a stop as he plopped himself down on his bed to take a breather. He patiently waited for Victor’s arrival, which took a whopping fifteen seconds. That had to be a new record.

“You’re—”

Even while gasping for air, Victor still managed to shoot him a pointed look. “If you so much as dare utter a single word about how slow I am, I will punt you hard enough to throw the Earth’s rotation off-balance and turn you into a man-made satellite.” He then bent forward in exhaustion, using his knees for support.

The threat was thoroughly ineffective at halting Hop’s acerbic witticisms. “And even in space I’ll still be faster than you.”

They could stay here and engage in pointless back-and-forth banter all day, but the sooner they reached the Pokémon Research Lab the sooner Hop could get his hands on the research he so desperately wanted access to. Locating his green duffel bag next to his nightstand, Hop picked it up and plopped it down on his bed, making sure everything was in place before they left. He could see his Rotom-phone, fully charged and ready for the trip. Mimzy and Spitfire’s pokéballs were also there. Good. While he was there Hop could introduce Spitfire to Auntie Sunny. She was always eager to meet new pokémon, and so were all of her highly excitable yampers.

After recovering from his thrilling journey to the first floor, Victor proceeded to pick up his own bag to inspect. “Goddammit,” he grumbled, placing it next to Hop’s, “this thing is so freaking bulky. Feels like I’m carrying a sideways wardrobe.”

“Sucks to be you.”

“Shut up.”

While double-checking his Rotom-phone’s battery (better safe than sorry, after all), Hop took notice of the three new messages his sister had sent him not too long ago. Considering the timestamp, he must’ve been eating breakfast at the time. He mentally braced himself and opened the Anarchy app.

 **uncanny_occultism – today at 9:39 AM** **  
**_I am simply saying..._

 **uncanny_occultism – today at 9:42 AM** **  
**_The price one pays for complete and utter control over an entire region is quite high. Even if you DO manage to somehow find yourself a competent enough rebellion group to follow your every order and successfully guillotine the queen to usurp the throne, thereby declaring yourself the supreme ruler, that will not prevent others from later following your example in a never-ending loop of bloodshed and dictatorships._

 **uncanny_occultism – today at 9:43 AM** **  
**_Anyhow, good luck with overthrowing your imaginary monarchy, and beware of the metaphorical Sword of Damocles dangling over your head._

Hop squinted at his phone’s screen.

 **Chimken_nuget – today at 10:12 AM** **  
**_wtf are u talking abt_

“Who are you talking to?”

Hop turned to Victor, who was looking over his shoulder to peek at the messages. “Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop?” He quickly turned his phone off and placed it back inside his bag, the rotom inside not making a single peep as it slept away, much like his father’s. “Anyway, that was just Ari. I was telling her about our Victorian roleplay yesterday and she sent me an entire essay about Damocles and his swords or whatever.”

“Who’s Damocles?”

Hop shrugged. “Beats me.”

“I already checked my bag and everything’s in order,” Victor said, motioning to his so-called ‘sideways wardrobe’ that he was now carrying on his back. Even though Hop had seen Victor with this bag at least twice now, the novelty and sheer absurdity of the size difference would never wear off. “How about you?”

“Same here.” Hop zipped his bag shut, picking it up by the strap and wrapping it securely around his torso. “Looks like we’re ready to go.”

“Well, then we’d better…” Victor paused for dramatic effect and Hop reeled, already knowing what was about to come. He was not looking forward to it. “...hop along!”

And there it was.

“Say that again and I will kick you so hard that the impact will permanently alter the solar system and make Jupiter revolve around Mars.” Hop was already making his way out the room as he spoke, gripping the strap with both his hands for extra support and as a sort of stress ball. This had to be the karma for constantly making jokes about Victor’s speed, or the lack thereof. “I am warning you, you walking dad joke.”

“Hey,” Victor entoned, following him. His steps were heavier and more controlled due to the weight of his bag. “Don’t plagiarise my threat.”

“Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

“No, _flattery_ is the sincerest form of flattery. That’s why it’s called flattery and not imitation.”

Hop sighed. “To-may-to, to-mah-to. We’re wasting time on semantics.” As they reached the bottom of the stairs—which was a task and a half for Victor—and passed the kitchen, he called out for his grandmother, “Nanna, Vic and I are going to the Research Lab! I’ll see you later!”

“Have fun, dear! And be careful!”

“Yes, ma’am,” both Hop and Victor answered dutifully before stepping outside.

The first thing that greeted them was the cold morning breeze. It wasn’t that surprising seeing as they’d been in the garden a few minutes ago, only having gone back inside to retrieve their bags. Considering how windy it was, Hop was willing to wager it would take at least a few more hours before the weather grew sweltering and harsh like yesterday, and they would definitely want to make it to the Lab before that happened. Their trip through Route 1 would be a long one, especially since they no longer held the sense of urgency from last time, and he feared for Victor’s lungs. He didn’t want to be the one to shove them back in if he coughed them up from exhaustion.

While Hop paused to take in the scenery of his grandmother’s garden again, feeling a sense of profound calmness over the familiar sight, Victor was already making his way to their pokémon, more than eager to hit the road. After a few seconds of standing about, Hop followed, already unzipping his duffel bag as he went. Mimzy and Spitfire ceased their capering to look up at him expectantly when he approached. Hop gave them a gentle smile, getting on one knee. “Hey, guess what? We're going to the Lab.”

Mimzy’s eyes lit up in excitement, but Spitfire only tilted her head in confusion. Hop snorted. “You’ll figure it out soon.”

With that said, he fished both their pokéballs from the bottom of his bag and called them back inside, watching as their forms shifted from corporeal to pure energy before being encapsulated inside the pokéball; he’d never really stopped to think about how odd that was, and he probably didn’t have time to do so either way. Hop carefully returned Spitfire’s pokéball to its place inside the bag, but, after careful consideration, placed Mimzy’s pokéball inside the pocket of his jacket instead. Once everything was said and done, he picked his bag up and prepared to make his way to Victor so the two of them could leave to his mother’s house and then to the Research Lab. However, one last thing caught his eye.

_Morpheus._

Since Hop was taking Mimzy and Spitfire with him, and Victor was taking Hibiscus, the poor thing no longer had anyone to play with. He was now just looking around, unsure of what to do. A twinge of guilt twisted Hop’s heart, and he knelt down next to the small, confused lizard. “Sorry, Morpheus,” he said, patting the sobble’s head softly, “we have to go somewhere. Don’t worry, we’ll be back soon, alright? Then you all can play together again.”

Morpheus tilted his head. Hop paused for a moment, thinking.

“Oh, I have an idea! You like water, don’t you? Why don’t you play in the pond while we’re gone?” He motioned with his head to the small pond that sat close to Camellia’s shed. A few leaves were floating daintily around the water, probably having fallen from the tree behind it overnight. Morpheus let out a soft coo of what Hop would assume was assent. “Alright, come on. I’ll take you to it.”

Hop extended his arm and, after a second or two of hesitating, Morpheus carefully climbed on, holding onto the jacket’s sleeve with what appeared to be adhesive appendages. Hop stared for a brief moment, completely caught up in the excitement of this fascinating discovery, before remembering the task at hand and making his way to the pond. Morpheus was pretty light—which wasn’t really a surprise as both Spitfire and Hibiscus happened to be light as well, most likely due to their size—and even while in motion he did not budge at all, his sticky limbs keeping him firmly planted in place. He would have to report this to Auntie Sunny once they met. She’d probably find it as enthralling as he did.

Once they’d made it to the pond, Hop got down on one knee and lowered his arm gently. Morpheus shot him one last look of what appeared to be gratitude before leaping forward, completely vanishing from sight as soon as his body hit the water (which was an equally fascinating phenomena in his opinion). Hop raised his other arm before his face to protect himself from the subsequent splash. With a small chuckle, he rose to his feet and made his way back to where Victor was impatiently standing with crossed arms. He was even tapping his feet for good measure.

“Are you done boondoggling already?”

Hop scoffed. “That wasn’t boondoggling. I don’t boondoggle.” He had absolutely no idea what boondoggling was.

“Sure you don’t. Come on, let’s go.”

And so they went.

Victor’s house was only ten minutes away from Hop’s if they took their time and walked at a leisurely pace. Hop had been hoping to be able to take a breather and admire the countryside and its quaint little details a bit more thoroughly. He and Victor had been so busy running about and exploring every nook and cranny they could find these past two months that they never really took a moment to just stop and appreciate the landscape that surrounded them. However, considering how Victor had begun chiding him about his slow pace, Hop had to unfortunately abandon his hopes for a calm stroll and quicken his steps.

“Funny you say that,” Hop said as he sauntered forward, watching with amusement as Victor tried and failed to keep up, “considering you just lost a race against me in the most embarrassing way possible. And even now you’re still lagging behind.”

“Fuck off, this bag is heavy as hell.”

“Sounds like a _you_ problem, mate.”

Victor silently fumed, choosing to conserve his energy instead of arguing so he could focus on not falling on his ass from the concentrated weight on his back, and Hop thought that was hilarious. He did feel some semblance of pity for him seeing as he had to carry around such an oversized bag, but then again, he was the one who insisted Hop stop boondoggling, whatever that meant. The rest of their trip was silent, with the only sounds to be heard being Victor’s slightly laboured breath, the rustling of grass and leaves, and the cries of pokémon of all kinds from afar.

Hop spent that time thinking about what he’d do with a Pokédex of his own. All the wonderful articles that’d been forbidden to the general public that he could access, from the most scandalous to the most menial. Would he even have time to read it all? He’d once asked Professor Magnolia how much information the Pokédex contained, and she told him that, if all of the articles were to be printed on paper and turned into hundred-paged books, there would be enough material to fill an entire public library. That response astounded him beyond belief at the time. The thought of having the equivalent of a portable library stored inside his phone was amazing, and it only fueled his need to get a Pokédex of his own.

Unfortunately, since the stipulation for receiving it would be to start his own journey as a pokémon trainer, and subsequently the Champion of Galar, that would mean he’d be too busy to bask in the knowledge he so desired. Considering how little his fathers were home nowadays, how busy they were, that meant he was destined for the same path—a path of paperwork and meetings and forever being a public figure with no desires and dreams of his own, a product before all else.

And that was… fine.

It was _fine._ He was fine with that. It didn’t matter because, deep down, he wanted this. His fathers loved battling, they loved being part of the Pokémon League, and with time he would come to love it as well.

Hop Harley-Wyver was not an outlier.

Nor would he ever be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pokédex: (exists)  
> Hop: I _will_ marry this and none of you can stop me.
> 
> At last, another chapter done! I know you were probably expecting to see the Slumbering Weald, I was too, but for some reason brevity escapes me yet again. For now, enjoy this chapter filled with banter and some slight angst. And now, to the notes we go!
> 
> — As you can see, Hop is quite the nerd. He loves pokémon, and he loves learning new information about them. My baby, I will protect him with my life.
> 
> — The Pokédex in this fic is quite different from the in-game Pokédex, as you can see. While SWSH's Pokédex gives you a small factoid about the pokémon you register on your journey, HLTC's Pokédex is pretty much an online library that contains every single piece of research you can find regarding most pokémon out there. Being given access is an honour, and trying to duplicate the app in any way immediately kicks you out, rescinding the key that allows you to unlock said library. Yes, it's happened before. _Do not try it._
> 
> — Yes, you read that right! _Yampers._ Sonia does not have only one yamper, she has way more! Consider this a present from me to you. We stan yamper in this house.
> 
> — No, the Nuppets was not the end of it, my friends. You’ll have to stand by and watch me create bootleg versions of all kinds of media and products throughout this entire story. I would apologise in advance but I'm not sorry at all.
> 
> — At last, we see Marnie! Or at least her Anarchy handle. I wonder what she’s talking about. Hop wants to know that too.
> 
> — This chapter's title is a reference to the song [Maps](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y7ix6RITXM0&ab_channel=Maroon5VEVO) by Maroon 5. It's a great song, I'd recommend you check it out!
> 
> And that was it! Yet another chapter done! And just in time for Pokémon Day too. As of right now it's a few hours after the 26th, and yes I did stay up all night writing this. I'm very glad it's over lol. And yes, I could say something about the new announcements, but where would be the fun in that? Welp, see ya next chapter, fellas!
> 
> You better be ready for it.


End file.
